THE  LIFE  THAT  NOW  IS 


SERMONS 


BY 


ROBERT    COLLYER, 


AUTHOR  OF   "  NATURE   AND   LIFE." 


BOSTON: 

HORACE       B.     FULLER, 

14  BROMFIELD  STREET. 

1871. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1871, 

15v  HORACE  R.  FULLER, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stereotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
No.  19  Spring  Lane. 


TO 


WILLIAM    HENRY   FURNESS, 

WHOSE  LIFE  IS  HID  WITH  CHRIST 
IN  GOD, 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK. 


2130004 


PREFACE. 


THE  name  I  have  given  to  this  little  volume, 
is  also  the  best  preface.  It  is  a  selection  of  such 
sermons  as  I  have  been  able  to  preach  about  the 
life  that  now  is.  If  I  thought  that  any  apology 
was  needed  for  saying  so  little  about  that  which 
is  to  come,  I  would  make  this  twofold  plea :  First, 
that  so  many  better  and  wiser  men  have  said  so 
much  about  it  already ;  and,  second,  I  am  so  sure 
that  if  we  can  but  find  the  right  way  through 
this  world,  and  walk  in  it,  the  doors  of  Heaven 
are  as  sure  to  open  to  us  as  ours  open  to  our 
own  children  when  they  come  eagerly  home  from 

school. 

R.  C. 

CHICAGO,  May  9,  1871. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    VINES  AND  BRANCHES 1 

II.    THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH 23 

III.  EVERT  MAN  A  PENNY 49 

IV.  THE  Two  HARVESTS G7 

V.     How  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD 88 

VI.     HOLINESS  OP  HELPFULNESS Ill 

VII.     GASHMU 137 

VIII.     STORMING  HEAVEN 1G1 

IX.    WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN 186 

X.     MARRIAGE 206 

XI.     CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD 228 

XII.     TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE 251 

XIII.  PATIENCE 265 

XIV.  THE  Two  MITES 284 

XV.     OLD  AGE 303 

XVI.     AT  TUB  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES 325 

7 


SERMONS. 


L 


VINES  AND  BRANCHES. 

JOHN  XT,  5 :  "  I  am  the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches :  He  that 
abideth  in  me,  and  I  in  him,  the  same  bringeth  forth  much 
fruit :  for  without  me  ye  can  do  nothing." 

IT  is  entirely  probable  that  these  words  were 
spoken  in  the  spring-time,  when  the  vines  on 
the  slopes  and  terraces  about  Jerusalem  were 
opening  into  leaf  and  blossom,  and  when  this 
analogy  would  have  all  the  power  and  beauty 
that  could  come  from  the  object  as  well  as  the 
subject.  There,  right  before  them,  and  all  about 
them,  are  the  vines,  standing  in  the  sun.  Some 
of  the  branches  are  the  genuine  outgrowth  of 
the  vine  itself.  Others  are  only  there  by  graft- 
ing. Some  are  strong,  some  feeble,  and  some 
dead ;  and  the  dead,  as  Jesus  is  speaking,  tho 
1  1 


2  VINES  AND  BRANCHES. 

vine-dressers  are  cutting  away,  that  they  may 
not  interfere  with  the  living  vines  or  disfigure  the 
vineyards.  But,  strong,  or  feeble,  or  dead,  there 
stand  the  stems,  ready  to  pour  their  sap  into 
every  branch  alike,  or,  if  they  make  any  differ- 
ence, to  give  their  life  to  the  lowliest  first  and 
in  the  fullest  measure,  that  they  which  have  the 
less  sun  may  have  the  more  sap,  and  more  at 
least  of  life,  if  they  have  less  of  what  makes  life 
a  blessing.  So  Jesus  said,  "I  am  the  vine,  ye 
are  the  branches,  and  my  Father  is  the  husband- 
man; and  every  branch  in  me  that  beareth  not 
fruit  he  taketh  away ;  and  every  branch  that 
beareth  fruit  he  pruneth  it,  that  it  may  bear 
more  fruit.  Abide  in  me,  and  I  in  you;  for  as 
the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself,  except  it 
abide  in  the  vine,  no  more  can  ye,  except  ye 
abide  in  me." 

In  this  sermon  I  want  to  try  to  find  this  sub- 
ject through  the  object,  to  see  how  the  analogy  is 
true,  first  naturally,  second  spiritually,  and  third 
universally ;  how  it  will  hold  good  while  vines 
and  men  continue  to  grow  on  the  earth.  It  ia 
not  something  once  done,  and  then  done  with, 
but  something  that  is  now  doing,  and  that  will 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  3 

be  done  to  the  end  of  time.  In  many  great, 
true  ways,  living  stems  are  still  standing  in  the 
sun,  with  their  branches  strong,  or  feeble,  or 
dead,  about  them;  and  the  dead  are  still  cut 
away,  and  the  living  pruned  by  the  husband- 
man, watching  and  working  forever  in  this 
vineyard  and  among  the  vines  which  he  has 
planted. 

This  truth  of  the  vines  and  the  branches  is  to 
be  understood,  first  of  all,  in  a  natural  sense  ;  and 
we  are  to  set  aside,  when  we  look  at  it  in  this 
sense,  what  we  are  fond  of  calling  mystery,  but 
ought  rather  to  call  obscurity,  and  to  understand 
that  Jesus  meant,  first,  by  what  he  said  then,  that 
these  men,  sitting  or  standing  about  him  that  day, 
were  to  be  as  intimately  united  to  him  through 
their  spirits  as  the  branches  are  united  to  the 
vine  —  were  to  draw  their  highest  life  through 
him  from  God,  as  these  branches  drew  their  sap 
through  the  stem  from  the  earth,  and  were  to 
drink  in  the  sun  and  make  the  stem  glorious 
by  their  fruitfulness,  as  did  these  branches  on 
the  vine ;  or,  to  demonstrate  their  deadness,  in 
contrast  with  those  that  did  drink  in  the  sun 
and  bear  great  clusters,  and  so  fail  to  be  what 


4  VINES  AND   BRANCHES. 

they  might  be,  not  because  the  sap  refused  to 
run  and  the  sun  to  shine,  but  because  they  did 
not  turn  sap  and  sun  to  good  account  by  bring- 
ing forth  good  fruit. 

So  that  the  power  by  which  Jesus  first  drew 
Peter  and  John  to  his  side,  and  held  them  there, 
was  a  personal  and  perfectly  natural  power ;  and 
we  are  not  to  think  of  it  as  a  mystery,  except  as 
the  influence  of  one  life  and  soul  over  another  for 
good  or  evil  is  always  a  mystery.  Attracted  to 
him,  this  one  from  his  tax-gathering,  and  that  one 
from  his  fishing,  they  had  gradually  felt  the  influ- 
ence of  his  spirit  running  through  their  whole  life  ; 
were  never  quite  what  they  ought  to  be  when  he 
did  not  inspire  them ;  they  had  no  such  power  to 
live  by  as  that  which  in  some  way  they  felt  flow- 
ing  out  of  his  nature  into  theirs  ;  and  so  they  came 
in  the  end  to  see  what  he  meant  when  he  said, 
"  Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  If  you  take  a 
cutting  from  a  feeble  stalk,  and  graft  it  on  a  vig- 
orous stem,  the  books  say  the  result  will  be  -that 
the  graft  will  show  a  far  greater  vigor  than  it 
could  have  shown  ungrafted ;  will  reveal  in  fruit 
or  flower,  very  clearly,  the  new  stock  from  which 
it  draws  its  vitality.  It  was  so  Avith  these  men. 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  5 

They  felt  their  life  grow  strong  and  good  in  the 
strength  and  goodness  of  their  great  Friend, 
and  they  were  to  feel  it  forever,  more  intensely 
as  the  years  went  on ;  then  they  were  to  send 
out  and  take  in  new  branches  in  their  turn  ;  and 
so  the  true  vine  is  at  last  to  cover  the  whole 
earth.  But  whether  in  the  world  of  the  apostles, 
or  in  the  world  here  and  now ;  in  the  way  Jesus 
saved  Peter,  or  in  the  way  you  are  to  save  the 
blasphemer,  who  loves  you  and  is  influenced  by 
you  as  he  is  by  no  other  man,  it  is  always  the 
lesser  growing  better  by  the  greater ;  the  weaker 
being  grafted  into,  and  drawing  life  from,  the 
stronger ;  the  Son  of  Man  forever  saved,  and  sanc- 
tified, and  fitted  for  heaven  by  the  Son  of  God. 

So  it  is  well  worth  our  notice  that  this  is,  in  a 
great  general  sense,  a  prime  principle  in  life ;  and 
that,  whatever  we  may  say  about  our  individual 
freedom,  the  great  majority  of  us  are  only  free 
as  the  branch  on  the  vine  is  free  ;  away  back  we 
join  into  some  other  personal  life  *?r  our  sal- 
vation, and  draw  from  it,  as  the  branch  from  the 
stem,  our  most  essential  vitality  and  power  — 
that  in  a  body  or  in  a  book,  which  is  the  spirit- 
ual body  of  the  inspired  thinker,  some  soul, 


6  VINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

larger  and  stronger  than  our  own,  has  got  hold 
of  us,  and  is  pouring  into  us  its  life,  and  mould- 
ing us  this  very  day. 

When  Carlyle  gave  his  address  in  Edinburgh, 
some  years  ago,  the  great  hall  was  filled,  not 
with  Scotchmen  alone,  but  with  men  who  poured 
in  from  the  most  distant  parts  of  England  and 
Europe  to  sit  at  his  feet  and  drink  in  his  words, 
because  he  is  to  them  the  vine,  and  they  are  the 
branches.  When  Mr.  Emerson  comes  to  our  city, 
there  are  those  sitting  about  his  feet  that  will 
hardly  listen  to  any  other  living  man,  because 
he  is  to  them  the  vine,  and  they  are  the  branches. 
When  the  gracious  and  good  English  queen  was 
left  a  widow,  she  found  that  her  life  was  so  in- 
terwoven with  the  life  she  had  lost  from  her  side, 
as  to  bring  an  abandonment  of  sorrow  such  as  the 
world  has  seldom  witnessed,  so  sad  it  was  and 
heavy ;  because,  though  she  was  queen  and  he 
was  consort,  he  was  the  vine  and  she  was  the 
branch.  So  Elijah  was  the  vine  to  Elisha,  and 
David  to  Jonathan,  and  Paul  to  Timothy,  and 
Socrates  to  Plato ;  and  the  world  is  full  of  those 
vines  and  branches,  because  it  is  a  natural  law 
of  our  life.  I  meet  every  day  men  and  women 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  7 

• 

who  feel  that  without  Channing,  or  Parker,  or 
Swedenborg,  or  Wesley,  they  can  do  nothing. 
The  great  soul  has  taken  them  in,  and  imparted 
its  life  to  theirs.  Yon  may  see,  sometimes,  a 
young  man  who  will  do  no  good  at  all  until 
he  gets  a  wife ;  but  then  he  does  really  be- 
come a  man.  Now,  such  a  man  may  scoff  at 
the  woman  question,  as  such  men  sometimes 
do,  and  say  the  common  platitudes  about  the 
inferiority  of  the  woman's  nature  to  that  of 
the  man,  as  such  men  often  will;  but  a  woman 
like  that  is  replying,  in  her  silent,  steady 
life,  all  day  long,  "  I  am  the  vine,  you  are  the 
branch,  and  without  me  you  can  do  nothing." 
"  I  consider,"  says  Dr:  Arnold,  "  beyond  all 
wealth,  honor,  or  even  health,  is  the  attachment 
we  form  to  noble  souls ;  because  to  become 
one  with  the  good,  generous,  and  true,  is  to 
be,  in  a  measure,  good,  generous,  and  true 
yourself." 

Now  it  follows,  of  course,  that  this  which  is 
at  once  so  natural  and  universal,  must  be  so  far 
right ;  because  all  wrong  is  unnatural,  and,  as  I 
am  compelled  to  believe,  exceptional.  But  then 
it  brings  up  this  question :  What  life,  in  a  bodj 


8  VINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

• 

or  a  booK,  m  earth  or  in  heaven,  is  the  one  that 
can  make  the  most  of  me,  can  do  most  for  me, 
and  inspire  mo  to  do  most  for  mankind?  Can 
Webster  and  Hamilton,  in  political  ideas?  In 
commercial  morality,  can  the  Lawrences  and 
Hoveys?  Can  Channing,  Parker,  or  Sweden- 
borg  be  supreme  to  me  among  men  in  faith, 
or  Emerson  in  nature,  or  Tennyson  in  a  far- 
reaching  and  delicate  intuition?  Let  me  never 
be  suspected  of  a  want  of  reverence  for  a  noble 
gift,  for  a  sweet  mastery  for  good,  from  whatever 
source  it  may  come.  William  Furness,  writing 
me  once  about  the  distinction  made  in  a  new  Life 
of  Jesus  between  the  human  and  divine  in  h>b 
nature,  said,  "  I  regret  the  distinction,  because 
Jesus  is  the  most  human  being  that  ever  lived, 
and  therefore  the  most  divine.  His  divinity  lay 
in  his  pure  humanity."  It  is  what  I  think  of  in 
this  personal  relation  of  the  vine  and  branches  in 
the  person  of  Jesus  Christ.  I  have  no  need  to 
go  into  mystery,  except  I  say  the  mystery  that 
must  always  dwell  in  the  way  one  soul  inspires 
another  and  lives  in  it.  I  am  simply  to  realize 
that  if  I  can  become  united  to  Jesus  Christ,  as 
the  branch  is  united  to  the  vine,  then  I  become  a 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  9 

part  of  a  life,  before  which  Webster  and  Hamilton 
pale  in  their  grasp  of  the  principles  we  have  em- 
bodied in  our  Declaration  of  Independence  ;  who 
was  deeper  in  the  doctrine  of  the  fatherhood  than 
Channing,  and  understood  free  grace  in  a  way  to 
make  Wesley  a  dreamer ;  and  before  whom  princes 
of  commercial  morality  stand  with  bared  heads  as 
they  see  the  great  guiding  lines  of  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount. 

"  One  who,  because  he  overcomes  us  BO 
Because  he  is  most  noble,  and  a  king, 
Can  well  prevail  against  our  fears,  and  fling 
His  purple  round  us,  till  our  hearts  do  grow 
So  close  against  his  heart  as  not  to  know 
How  weak  they  are  alone." 

This  brings  me,  secondly,  to  the  true  test  of  this 
union  with  Christ,  what  it  is,  and  how  it  is  to  be 
distinguished,  or,  in  other  words,  the  spiritual 
truth  of  the  analogy. 

And  I  need  not  take  much  time  telling  you,  to 
begin  with,  that  it  is  a  very  common  thing  for 
every  great  branch  on  this  Christian  stem  to 
claim  to  be  the  true  branch  of  the  true  vine. 
The  Romanist  bases  this  claim  apparently  on 
being  the  oldest  branch,  and  the  Rationalist  on 
being  the  newest;  the  Baptist  on  being  the 


10  VINE8  AND  BRANCHES. 

branch  nearest  the  water,  the  Quaker  on  being 
so  far  away ;  the  Universalist,  because  it  gets 
so  much  sunlight,  and  the  Calvinist,  seemingly, 
because  it  gets  so  little  ;  the  Episcopalian,  be 
cause  every  twig  on  its  particular  branch  is 
trained  and  confirmed  in  a  particular  way,  and 
the  Unitarian,  because  each  of  its  sprays  is  left 
very  much  to  its  natural  instinct  to  grow  as  it 
will.  And  all  these  claims,  as  you  know,  have 
involved  the  Christian  world  in  endless,  and 
sometimes  shameful,  persecutions.  Now,  will  not 
this  analogy  of  the  vine  and  the  branches  cast 
precisely  the  light  we  need  across  the  spiritual 
claims  of  the  church  and  the  man,  and  light  up 
the  whole  question  of  what  it  is  to  share  in  this 
intimate  life  of  Christ  in  a  way  that  is  never  to  be 
mistaken  ?  Suppose  the  branches  on  a  vine  could 
make  this  claim  that  is  made  by  the  churches  — 
that  one  could  cry,  "  Believe  in  me,  for  I  am  the 
oldest  branch  ;  "  and  another,  "  In  me,  for  I  am 
the  newest ; "  and  this,  "  In  me,  for  I  am  most  in 
the  sun ;  "  what  would  be  the  natural  and  inevita- 
ble reply  ?  There  is  but  one,  it  is  this :  you  are 
all  alike  in  being  branches  on  the  one  stem.  But 
you  are  not  united  in  this  way  merely  to  be  most  in 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  11 

the  water  or  the  sun  ;  it  is  not  a  prime  question, 
whether  you  are  the  oldest  or  the  newest  branch ; 
the  sole  thing  to  know  is,  what  fruit  do  you 
bear,  and  how  does  that  fruit  compare  with  what 
the  other  branches  are  bearing  ?  If  this  branch 
out  in  the  sun,  or  this  that  rejoices  in  its  freedom, 
shall  bear  only  a  few  dried-up  specimens,  while 
that  near  the  water,  or  that  away  back  in  the 
shadow,  is  burdened  to  breaking,  and  that  tied 
fast  to  ecclesiastical  trellis-work  wholly  covers 
the  trellises  with  its  great  ripe  clusters,  then 
the  fruit-bearers  are  the  true  branches.  If 
Calvinism  can  fill  a  man  with  love,  joy,  peace, 
long-suffering,  gentleness,  patience,  and  good- 
ness ;  if  it  can  send  him  out  to  clothe  the  naked, 
feed  the  hungry,  visit  the  sick,  pity  the  pris- 
oner, and  to  break  every  yoke,  while  my  faith, 
or  any  other,  can  only  inspire  me  to  tell  hand- 
somely and  eloquently  how  it  is  done,  but  then  to 
leave  the  real  thing  undone ;  to  bring  out  beauti- 
ful blossoms  that  will  fill  a  whole  valley  with, 
perfume,  but  to  let  the  blossom  suffice  and  bear 
uo  fruit,  the  world  does  not  hold  a  more  empty 
Doast  than  mine  of  being  the  true  branch  of  the 
true  vine. 


12  TINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

But  now  let  us  put  this  just  the  other  way. 
Suppose  a  man,  making  not  the  least  pretension 
to  any  intimate  union  with  this  vine,  one  who 
says,  "  I  know  nothing  about  your  claim,  that 
before  I  can  be  what  I  ought  to  be  I  must  be 
called  after  some  special  dogma,  and  in  somo 
way  realize  what  you  hold  to  be  so  essential 
to  a  fruitful  life,  —  but  there  is  my  life  itself." 
And  suppose  )rou  should  see  that  such  a  man  really 
Joes  live  well ;  that  his  life  is  good,  his  soul's  large 
windows  free  from  blemish ;  that  he  is  loving, 
long-suffering,  gentle,  patient,  and  good ;  that  the 
wan  face  of  sickness  lights  up  in  his  presence, 
and  he  is  feet  to  the  lame,  and  a  father  to  the 
poor,  and  breaks  the  bond  of  oppression,  and 
causes  the  widows  to  sing  for  joy ;  what  would 
you  say  to  a  man  like  that  ?  You  would  say,  "  My 
friend,  when  Jesus  was  here  among  men,  he  said, 
'  other  sheep  I  have,  that  are  not  of  this  fold.' " 
Now,  it  is  no  matter  to  me  that  you  disclaim  this 
personal  union ;  you  hold  it  all  the  same.  You 
are  one  of  the  branches  of  the  true  vine,  because 
you  bear  good  fruit.  It  would  really  make  no 
deep  and  abiding  difference  if  you  should  say 
you  do  not  believe  in  Christ.  Christ  believes  in 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  13 

you,  and  has  gone  to  prepare  a  place  for  you,  and 
will  come  again,  and  take  you  to  himself.  For  a 
real  belief  is  not  some  mere  opinion,  this  way  or 
that,  in  the  mind.  It  is  the  whole  set  and  pur- 
pose of  the  life  and  soul ;  so  you  can  say,  "  I 
never  taught  in  the  streets  in  thy  name ; "  but  he 
will  say,  "  You  taught  the  freedman,  or  sent  a 
teacher  to  do  it."  You  can  deny  that  you  ever 
cast  out  devils ;  but  he  will  say,  "  Don't  you 
remember  that  man  you  picked  up  out  of  the 
gutter,  and  how  you  held  on  to  him  until  he  sat 
clothed  and  in  his  right  mind  ?  Ye  did  it  unto 
the  least  of  mine  ;  ye  did  it  to  me." 

But  then  it  would  be  a  very  great  mistake  to 
claim  that  a  man,  living  such  a  life,  and  dis- 
claiming Christian  ideas  and  convictions  for  what 
he  was,  and  what  he  was  doing,  was,  therefore, 
an  independent  vine  of  himself ;  owed  nothing  to 
the  sap  that  flows  forever  from  that  inexhaustible 
stock  in  these  Christian  lands,  and  was. the  growth 
of  a  plant  whose  seed  was  altogether  in  itself.  It 
is  indeed  seldom  that  this  is  so. 

When  a  man  lives  a  noble  life,  thinks  great 
thoughts, '  does  great  things,  shames  Christian 
men  by  the  intrinsic  beauty  and  grace  of  his  life, 


14  VINES  AND   BRANCHES. 

and  yet  disclaims  connection  with  the  Christian 
stock,  I  want  to  know  how  he  has  come  into  life  j 
and,  if  he  is  the  son  of  an  unbroken  succession  of 
Christian  ministers  and  men  running  directly 
through  many  generations,  I  say,  then,  that  goes 
a  long  way  to  account  for  it.  You  are  not  a 
graft,  but  a  natural  branch  of  the  great  vine.  It 
is  true  that  you  are  able  to  live  isolated  from  the 
special  Christian  line  in  the  world  to-day,  but  it  is 
very  doubtful  indeed  whether  you  could  have  done 
so  well  if  your  lathers  had  not  lived  in  the  Chris- 
tian church  of  yesterday.  And  if  a  man  in  my 
city  says  to  me,  "  I  do  not  care  for  churches  and 
worship ;  I  can  worship  at  home  ; "  and  then  goes 
on  to  tell  me  how  his  good  old  father,  the  deacon, 
used  to  go  to  church  in  New  England,  I  feel 
like  saying,  "  My  friend,  your  father,  the  deacon,  I 
suppose,  left  you  very  little  money,  but  he  left  you 
a  grand  legacy  of  thought  and  feeling,  that  reach- 
es up  to  heaven,  and  belongs  there.  The  truth  is, 
you  are  a  birthright  member  of  the  Christian 
church.  Away  back  you  reach  into  the  true  vine. 
Now  you  have  made  your  little  legacy  of  money 
into  a  fortune,  and  may  the  Lord  make  you  the  hap- 
pier for  every  dollar  you  are  worth.  But  tell  me 


VINES  AND   BRANCHES.  15 

now,  how  is  it  about  that  other  legacy  ?  Are  you 
merely  using  up  the  interest  of  that,  or  are  you 
dipping  into  the  principal  ?  Is  the  way  you  are 
living  likely  to  end  in  your  children's  having  such 
a  treasure  of  the  thought  and  feeling  that  ennoble 
the  soul  as  you  had,  or,  in  giving  them  more 
money,  will  you  give  them  less  grace?  Nay, 
man,  make  it  a  personal  matter.  Tell  me  what 
your  home  worship  is  doing  for  the  world's  salva- 
tion, what  good  fruit  comes  from  it,  and  then  I 
will  tell  you  exactly  what  it  is  worth.  For,  if  it 
bring  the  good  fruits  of  the  spirit  and  life  that 
always  come  of  any  genuine  worship  of  God 
whatever,  your  course  is  the  next  best  to  that  of 
plunging  heart  and  soul  into  some  real  Christian 
church  and  movement,  such  as  would  best  answer 
to  your  longing  and  the  world's  welfare.  But  if 
in  your  isolation  you  bear  no  such  fruit,  and  are 
aware  of  an  ever-slackening  endeavor  to  do 
anything  noble  and  good,  then,  I  do  not  doubt 
that  you  are  still  a  branch  of  the  great  vine  ;  but 
every  branch  that  beareth  not  fruit,  He  taketh 
away." 

But  with  these  illustrations  of  what  a  far-reach- 
ing influence  this  of  Christ  is  to  us  all,  and  in 


16  VINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

the  most  direct  way,  and  what  a  strict  account  it 
holds  with  every  branch  on  the  stem,  I  say 
fearlessly,  that  this  one  test  is  the  true  test, 
and  there  is  no  other  of  union  with  Christ,  or 
how  I  may  know  and  prove  it.  I  bear  fruit,  or  I 
do  not  bear  fruit ;  it  is  good,  or  it  is  not  good. 
When  that  one  thing  is  made  clear,  the  problem 
is  solved  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  Wherever 
you  find  a  man  bearing  good  fruit,  there,  whether 
he  may  know  it  or  not,  in  a  direct  personal  way, 
you  find  a  man  united  to  Jesus  Christ,  —  a  true 
branch  of  the  true  vine.  I  care  not  what  you 
call  him. 

And  so  it  is  once  more,  that  just  as  on  the 
vine  there  is  a  vast  complicated,  yet  perfect 
inter-action  of  one  branch  on  another,  as  no  one 
'branch  can  possibly  exist  for  itself,  but  draws  in 
the  sunlight  to  send  it  down  and  through  the 
whole  vine,  sharing  what  it  has  got  with  the 
others,  and  sharing  what  they  have  got,  giving 
them  strength,  and  getting  strength  from  them  ; 
a  separate  branch  in  every  way,  and  yet  in  every 
way  a  part  of  the  whole  vine,  so  all  these  great 
churches,  interests,  and  influences  we  call  Chris- 
tian, and  know  to  be  such,  blend  beautifully 


VINES  AND   BRANCHES.  17 

nnder  all  their  differences  and  make  the  perfect 
whole.  It  is  like  what  I  experienced  in  Paris 
once.  I  wanted  to  hear  Coquerel,  the  great 
French  preacher,  or  at  least  to  see  his  face,  so  I 
went  with  a  brother  preacher  to  his  church. 
We  found  he  was  not  to  be  there,  and  it  was 
Dot  church  time.  But  groping  along  a  dark 
passage  in  the  basement  of  the  building  in  the 
direction  of  some  sounds,  we  came  at  last  to  a 
door,  which  opened  right  into  a  Sunday  school, 
of  at  least  four  hundred  children.  We  sat  down 
quietly  during  the  lesson.  I  did  not  understand 
a  word  they  said.  When  it  was  over,  they  pre- 
pared to  sing.  The  superintendent  gave  the  hymn. 
I  was  still  in  the  dark,  until  all  at  once  the  whole 
school  burst  out  into  one  of  the  most  familiar  melo- 
dies we  use  in  our  own  Sunday  school,  one  I  had 
heard  in  Unity  Church  a  hundred  times,  and  then  I 
seemed  to  understand  all  about  it.  It  was  like  that 
old  Pentecost,  long  ago,  when  the  Spirit  came 
down,  and  every  man  heard  the  disciples  talking  in 
his  own  tongue.  So  we  say  our  own  words  in  our 
own  tongue,  and  are  very  careful  not  to  get 
mixed  up  with  others  that  are  saying  other  words 
in  other  tongues,  and  we  hardly  understand  each 
2 


18  VINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

other  at  all.  But  some  day  we  find  a  strange 
congregation  at  their  worship  or  their  work,  and 
though  we  do  not  know  the  words,  when  they 
strike  the  same  great  chord  we  are  instantly  in 
the  whole  spirit  of  the  thing,  and  feel  quite  at 
home  to  the  music.  It  is  like  the  Portuguese 
Hymn,  that  is  just  as  good,  and  gracious,  and 
sweet  when  it  rings  in  a  prayer-meeting,  as  when 
it  goes  swelling  and  sounding  through  the  grand 
mass.  It  is  like  the  hymn-books  we  use  in  our 
worship,  written  by  old  saints  of  the  Primitive 
Church,  and  saints  in  the  church  of  to-day; 
by  men  and  women,  those  whose  hearts  were 
breaking  for  sorrow,  and  those  whose  hearts  could 
hardly  hold  their  own  for  joy ;  by  men  as  wide 
apart  as  St.  Gregory  and  George  Dawson  of 
Birmingham. 

"  But  they  are  all  made  one  in  Christ, 

And  love  each  other  tenderly, 
The  old,  the  young,  the  rich,  the  poor 

In  that  great  company. 
And  there  shall  come  a  glorious  day, 

When  all  the  good  saints,  every  one 
Shall  meet  within  their  Father's  home, 

And  stand  before  his  throne." 

And  then  again,  as  in  the  vine  the  stem  makes 
the -branches  strong  with  its  strength,  fills  them 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  19 

with  life  out  of  its  heart  and  supplies  the  sap, 
the  one  prime  condition  of  their  fruitfulness ; 
and  they,  in  their  turn,  cover  not  themselves  alone, 
but  the  stem  also  with  glory,  in  the  great  ripe 
clusters  they  bear  for  the  harvest ;  so  in  this 
true  vine,  the  spirit  of  Christ,  out  of  which  the 
life  of  the  world  comes  pouring  in  a  never-ceasing 
stream,  the  branches  can  cover  the  stem  itself 
with  glory  and  praise. 

In  Manchester,  right  in  the  heart  of  the  vast 
modern  city,  you  find  a  place  two  hundred  years 
old,  as  quiet  and  still  as  if  thene  were  not  a  factory 
within  a  hundred  miles.  It  includes  a  noble 
library  of  books,  to  which  the  whole  world  has 
free  access,  and  a  foundation  in  which  a  great 
number  of  boys  are  educated  and  fitted  for  life. 
More  than  two  hundred  years  ago  Humphrey 
Chetham  died  in  Manchester ;  he  was  a  rich  man, 
and  left  his  riches  to  found  this  college  and 
library ;  and  there,  from  that  time  to  this, 
through  all  the  changes  of  time  in  England, 
forty  or  more  poor  boys  have  been  housed  and 
fed,  educated  and  fitted  out  for  life,  and  that  great 
library  of  books  has  been  as  free  as  the  air  to  all 
who  wanted  to  read  them.  Now  think  what  glory 


20  VINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

and  praise  have  come  in  those  centuries  to  that 
good  name  in  the  good  this  legacy  to  Manchester 
has  done ;  how  all  the  world  over,  men  have 
lived  well  and  wisely,  who  could  say,  "  I  was 
one  of  the  college  boys  in  Manchester,  and  had 
free  access  to  that  library,  and  its  nurture  and 
protection  made  me  a  man,  when  I  might  have 
been  a  mere  waif  and  weed  in  the  great  highway 
of  the  world !  "  It  touches  my  final  idea  of  this 
great,  true  vine,  that  Jesus,  who  once  entered  into 
the  heavens,  left  to  the  world  this  legacy,  by 
which  he  is  and  is  to  be  more  intensely  and  glori- 
ously present  in  his  risen  life  than  he  was  when 
Peter  and  John  sat  by  his  side  in  Galilee,  as  Hum- 
phrey Chetham  is  more  intensely  and  gloriously 
in  Manchester,  now  two  hundred  and  thirteen 
years  after  his  death,  than  ever  he  was  in  his  life. 
0,  friends,  we  read  these  new  Lives  of  Christ 
that  are  pouring  from  the  press  !  We  are  fasci- 
nated by  Renan,  and  bewildered  by  Strauss.  We 
get  a  glimpse  of  his  presence  in  Ecce  Homo, 
touch  the  hem  of  his  garments  in  Schenkel,  and 
almost  see  him  as  he  was  in  Furness,  and  think 
how  glad  we  should  have  been  to  be  near  him 
in  his  very  living  presence  —  to  be  one  of  the 


VINES   AND   BRANCHES.  21 

Twelve,  and  hear  his  voice,  and  touch  his  hand, 
and  be  healed  by  his  power,  and  lifted  by  his 
spirit  to  God.  I  tell  you  this  identification  is  better 
than  that  intercourse  —  to  be  one  with  this  great 
vine,  as  it  now  lives  on  this  earth ;  to  be  one 
of  the  branches  that  draw  their  life  from  that 
vine,  that  catch  the  sunlight  and  rain,  grow 
gloriously  towards  the  heavens,  ripen  great 
clusters  i)f  fruit,  and  make  the  stem  glorious 
in  their  glory, —  this  is  to  know  Christ.  We 
cannot  read  the  life  of  Christ  so  as  to  understand 
it,  until  we  enter  into  its  spirit,  any  more  than 
Jefferson  Davis  can  understand  the  life  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln.  Loyalty  to  Christ's  spirit  and  work 
is  the  best  commentary,  and  the  only  one  that  can 
make  Christ  altogether  clear  to  us.  Go  about 
the  Father's  business  as  he  did.  Send  his  Gospel 
far  and  wide  ;  be  ye  saviours  in  your  degree ; 
take  Christ  into  your  hearts,  and  then  there  will 
be  very  little  trouble  about  him  in  your  minds. 
But  then  never  forget  that  if  he  is  the  vine, 
God  is  the  sun. 

There  is  an  awful  and  unspeakable  distinction 
between  the  two  natures.  They  can  never  be  the 
same.  He  is  the  true  vine,  and  the  whole  church 


22  VINES   AND   BRANCHES. 

—  all  true,  fruitful  souls  —  are  the  branches.  Yet 
as  vine  and  branch  alike  would  be  nothing  without 
the  rain  and  sun,  so  even  this  most  blessed  life  of 
Christ  in  the  soul  would  be  nothing  without  God, 
his  Father  and  our  Father  —  God  over  all,  blessed 
forevermore  I 


II. 


THE   THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

2  CORINTHIANS  xii.  7-9  :  "  And  lest  I  should  be  exalted 
above  measure  through  the  abundance  of  the  revelations, 
there  was  given  to  me  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  the  messenger 
of  Satan  to  buffet  me,  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above 
measure.  For  this  thing  I  besought  the  Lord  thrice,  that  it 
might  depart  from  me.  And  he  said  unto  me,  My  grace  is 
sufficient  for  thee  :  for  my  strength  is  made  perfect  in 
weakness.  Most  gladly  therefore  will  I  rather  glory  in  my 
infirmities,  that  the  power  of  Christ  may  rest  upon  me." 


is  known  in  sacred  biography  as  Paul's 
thorn  in  the  flesh,  has  been  a  thorn  in  the  pulpit 
expositions  of  all  the  Christian  ages.  Carefully 
concealing  its  nature  himself,  he  has  thereby  set 
all  that  want  to  be  wise  above  what  is  written, 
in  a  state  of  uneasiness  to  find  it  out.  The  re- 
sult, as  might  be  expected,  has  been  very  curi- 
ous and  quite  inconclusive.  One  commentator  is 
clear  it  was  a  defect  of  the  eyes  ;  another  is  cer- 
tain it  was  a  defect  in  the  speech  ;  and  lameness 
has  been  supposed,  and  neuralgia,  and  a  want  of 

23 


24         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

that  dignity  of  appearance  that  is  supposed  to  bo 
indispensable  to  a  successful  minister ;  and  so  al- 
most endlessly,  as  different  men  have  been  led 
by  different  fancies,  to  this  or  that  conclusion. 

So  I  suppose  it  cannot  be  of  much  use  to 
us  to  know  exactly  what  this  thorn  was,  since  the 
man  who  suffered  from  it  did  not  care  to  tell  us. 
He  certainly  cannot  have  meant  to  put  preachers 
into  the  ^perplexity  that  has  come  of  his  conceal- 
ment. He  may  have  felt  it  was  too  delicate  a 
thing  to  be  made  a  matter  of  common  talk,  even 
to  the  brethren,  as  most  persons  do  who  are  in 
Paul's  case.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  felt  it  was 
right  to  say  that  the  thorn  was  there,  and  he 
could  not  get  rid  of  it ;  could  not  pray  it  out,  or 
cry  it  out,  or  believe  it  out,  or  tear  it  out,  or  get 
the  Lord  to  take  it  out.  There  the  thorn  was, 
whatever  it  was,  and  there  it  would  stay,  very 
likely,  to  the  end  of  this  mortal  life.  But  then 
he  found  in  the  struggle  to  be  free  from  the 
thorn,  what  in  the  end  was  better  than  any  such 
freedom, —  power  and  patience  to  bear  his  pain  ; 
still  the  power  was  not  his  own,  nor  the  patience, 
only  the  thorn.  But  this  was  the  end  of  it :  the 
two  things  together  carried  him  right  to  God, 


THE  THORN  IN  THE   FLESH.  25 

and  laid  him  to  rest  in  the  arms  of  the  Eter- 
nal. And  as  a  sick  child  rests  in  the  arms  of 
its  mother,  unable  to  shake  off  the  pain,  but  still 
wonderfully  supported  and  comforted  out  of  her 
love,  so  it  was  in  his  suffering,  when  God  said, 
"  My  strength  is  made  perfect  in  thy  weakness." 
Yet  with  all  this  hiding,  there  is  one  thing  of 
the  deepest  possible  moment,  and  that  is,  the  rea- 
son why  this  thorn  should  be  there.  This  the 
apostle  cannot  leave  in  the  dark.  He  clearly  feels 
that  we  ought  all  to  know  WHY  the  thorn  came. 
It  happened  to  him  once,  he  says,  to  be  just  as 
happy  as  a  man  can  be.  It  seems  still,  alter 
fourteen  years,  that  he  was  in  heaven,  whether 
in  the  body,  or  out  of  the  body,  he  cannot  tell. 
All  he  knows  is,  that  these  were  the  most  exalted 
moments  of  his  life ;  there  he  heard  things  he 
cannot  report,  because  human  language  would 
fail  to  convey  the  idea  if  he  were  free  to  tell  it , 
and  right  in  the  heart  of  that  experience  he  got 
his  thorn  ;  it  came  then  ;  it  was  there  still ;  and 
the  reason  why  it  came  is  clear  to  him  also.  He 
was  in  danger  of  losing  his  balance,  of  being 
carried  quite  away  by  his  felicity,  and  so  losing 
the  sense  of  his  kinship  to  our  pained  and  suffer- 


26  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

ing  humanity  and  his  reliance  upon  Heaven,  so 
there  was  given  him  a  thorn  in  the  flesh.  And 
so  it  is  when  we  know  this  much  about  the 
thorn,  we  can  see  that  we  do  not  need  to  know  any 
more.  The  particular  fact  in  the  life  of  one  man, 
opens  thereby  into  an  experience  that  is  in  some 
measure  common  to  all.  If  we  could  know  that 
Paul's  thorn  in  the  flesh  was  a  defect  in  his  eyes, 
or  his  speech,  or  a  pain  in  his  head,  or  the  want 
of  a  foot  to  his  stature,  that  particular  thorn  would 
fasten  us  down  to  a  particular  experience,  and 
we  should  lose  the  great  general  lesson  which  I 
want  to  find,  if  I  can,  to-day,  in  speaking  to  you. 

First,  of  the-  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  our  common 
humanity. 

Second,  what  we  can  ourselves  do  about  it. 
And, 

Third,  what  can  come  ta  us  with  any  thorn,  if 
we  can  find  out  Paul's  way  of  dealing  with  it. 

And  firstr  is  it  not  true  in  a  great  general  sense, 
that  we  all  have  some  time  a  thorn  in  the  flesh. 
Something  that  we  do  not  care  to  describe  by 
particulars,  any  more  than  Paul  did,  and  would 
never  mention  without  grave  reason,  but  there 
it  is,  as  sure  as  we  live,  and  as  long  as  we 


THE  THORN  IN  THE   FLESH.  27 

live,  touching  us  to  the  quick  with  its  pain  now 
and  then,  and  never  letting  us  go  quite  so  free 
as  we  were  before  it  first  began  to  stab  us. 

In  the  ranges  of  our  common  human  history,  we 
cannot  fail  to  see  the  presence  of  this  thorn  in  the 
greatest  and  noblest  lives.  Sometimes  it  is  one 
thing,  sometimes  another.  Now  on  the  surface, 
and  now  in  the  nature.  Those  that  soar  highest, 
as  Paul  soared  when  he  saw  heaven,  bear  it  with 
them,  or  bring  it  back,  and  carry  it,  as  we  do, 
wherever  they  go.  It  may  be  a  mean  thing,  like 
Byron's  club-foot ;  it  shall  torment  me  for  all  that, 
as  if  there  is  no  greater  misfortune  possible  to 
man  than  to  go  halting  all  his  days ;  or  it  may 
be  as  great  a  thing  as  Dante's  worship  of  Beatrice, 
as  he  appears  in  the  picture,  with  that  face,  sad 
beyond  expression,  looking  up  to  the  beautiful 
saint,  whose  "soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt 
apart,"  —  it  shall  be  a  thorn  all  the  same  to  each 
man.  Or  it  may  be  a  great  vice,  like  that  which 
seized  and  held  Coleridge  and  De  Quincey,  and 
put  them  down  in  the  dungeon  of  the  Giant 
Despair.  Or  it  may  be  only  like  the  dyspepsia, 
•that  now,  in  these  days,  darkens  the  whole 
vision  of  Mr.  Carlyle,  turning  his  beautiful  after- 


28         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

noon  into  a  grim  and  lurid  sunset.  But  it  is  a 
thorn  all  the  same,  to  all  alike.  In  king  David 
it  was  a  great  sin  he  never  could  forget  if 
he  lived  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah,  that  stabbed 
him  in  his  sons  when  penitence  and  God's  grace 
had  plucked  it  out  of  his  soul.  In  Peter  it  was 
the  memory  of  that  morning,  I  suppose,  when 
he  cursed  and  swore,  and  turned  his  back  on  the 
noblest  friend  that  ever  a  man  had.  In  Luther 
it  was  a  blackness  of  darkness  that  would  come 
when  it  was  ready,  defying  both  physicians  and 
philosophy,  and  beating  down  the  soaring  soul  as 
a  great  hailstone  beats  down  a  bird.  In  Wesley 
it  was  a  home  without  love,  and  a  wife  insane 
with  jealousy,  with  an  old  love  hidden  away 
in  his  heart  that  was  never  permitted  to  bloom 
in  his  life,  and  so  on  through  all  the  tale.  Paul 
has  no  singularity  :  we  need  not  be  anxious 
about  his  mystery.  Some  of  these  things  hurt 
him,  and  made  the  poor  manhood  of  him  quiver. 
The  thorn  in  the  flesh  among  the  great  ones  of 
the  world  is  a  common  possession.  I  said  to  a 
gentleman  once,  who  told  me  he  had  been  very 
intimate  indeed  with  a  great  man,  how  was  it  that 
he  should  have  fallen  into  such  evil  habits  in 


THE  THOEN  IN  THE  FLESH.         29 

his  later  life.  "I  must  not  tell  you  that,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  may  tell  you  this,  that  he  took  to 
wine  as  a  refuge  from  what  to  him  seemed  worse, 
at  last,  than  drinking.  It  was  pitiful  it  should 
be  so,  and  he  should  do  so ;  but  knowing  him  as  I 
do,  I  have  always  felt  that  my  pity  for  him  in 
these  things  should  outreach  my  condemnation." 
It  was  Paul's  delicate  and  shrouded  way  of  saying 
it  is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh ;  but  I  will  not  tell  you 
what  it  is.  I  was  talking  once  again  with  a 
gentleman  who  knows  very  intimately  one  of  our 
greatest  living  Americans,  a  man  whose  name  will 
stand  high  in  our  history;  and  speaking  especially 
of  the  felicity  of  the  good  providences  that  have 
attended  him,  I  said  he  must  be  one  of  the  hap- 
piest of  men.  "  There  is  that  in  his  life,"  my  friend 
said,  "  you  do  not  see,  and  very  few  are  aware 
of.  I  knew  him  a  long  time  before  I  guessed  it : 
it  is  a  pain  that  he  carries  about  with  him  like 
his  shadow ;  not  a  bodily,  but  a  mental  pain,  which 
he  will  carry  with  him  to  his  grave." 

And  so  it  is  with  us  all  —  what  the  thorn  is  to 
these  men  in  their  great  estate  it  may  be  to  us  in 
ours.  It  is  true  we  can  all  see  here  and  there  a 
kindly,  easy  soul,  which  seems  never  to  have 


30         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

felt  the  thorn,  one  which  has  certainly  never 
soared  as  Paul  had  when  he  caught  it,  —  whose 
temperament  will  make  it  hard,  one  thinks,  for 
even  Providence  to  find  the  nerve.  I  am  not 
sure  such  a  nature  may  not  be  thorn  proof:  I 
think  sometimes  it  is.  They  say  some  fishes 
will  go  on  feeding  after  what  seem  to  be  the 
most  frightful  inflictions,  and  evidently  feel  no 
pain.  I  have  thought  there  might  possibly  be 
such  a  temperament  as  that  among  men.  I  re- 
member in  one  of  our  Love  Feasts  in  the  Meth- 
odist church  in  England,  thirty  years  ago  and 
more,  a  man  got  up  and  told  us  how  he  had  lost 
his  wife  by  the  fever,  and  then,  one  by  one, 
all  his  children,  and  had  felt  as  calm  and  serene 
through  it  as  if  nothing  had  happened  ;  not 
suffering  in  the  least ;  not  feeling  a  pang  of  pain  ; 
fended  and  shielded,  as  he  belie  ved,Jby  the  Divine 
grace,  and  up  to  that  moment,  when  he  was  talk- 
ing to  us,  without  a  grief  in  his  heart.  As  soon 
as  he  had  done,  the  wise  and  manful  old  preacher 
who  was  leading  the  meeting  got  up,  and  said, 
"  Now,  brother,  you  go  home,  and  into  your  closet, 
and  down  on  your  knees,  and  never  get  up  again, 
if  you  can  help  it,  until  you  are  a  new  man. 


THE  THOEN  IN  THE  FLESH.         31 

What  you  have  told  us  is  not  a  sign  of  grace,  it  is 
a  sign  of  the  hardest  heart  I  ever  encountered  in 
a  Christian  man.  Instead  of  your  being  a  saint, 
you  are  hardly  good  enough  for  a  decent  sinner. 
Religion  never  takes  the  humanity  out  of  a  man, 
it  makes  him  more  human ;  and  if  you  were  hu- 
man at  all,  such  trouble  as  you  have  had,  ought 
to  have  broken  your  heart.  I  know  it  would 
mine,  and  I  pretend  to  be  no  more  of  a  saint 
than  other  people  ;  so  I  warn  you,  never  tell  such 
a  story  as  that  in  a  Love  Feast  again." 

That  man  was  an  instance  of  the  sort  of  man  who 
may  have  no  thorn  in  the  flesh.  The  old  preacher 
saw  it  was  not  in  the  riches  of  God's  grace,  but 
in  the  poverty  of  his  own  nature,  that  he  found 
his  impunity  from  pain ;  and  such  impunity  is 
possible  to  such  men  always;  yet  only  as  it  is 
possible  to  fishes.  But  the  law  of  life  is  to  feel 
the  thorn :  the  balance  scale  of  ecstasy  is  agony. 
Poor  Little  Boston,  in  the  exquisite  story,  still 
wanted  to  be  buried  in  a  grave  six  feet  long.  I 
never  blamed  Byron  for  feeling  as  he  did  about 
his  foot ;  he  could  no  more  help  that,  with  his 
nature,  than  he  could  help  his  lameness.  The 
blame  lay  in  his  never  summoning  that  strength 


32         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

to  the  maimed  part,  by  which  in  his  soul  he  could 
have  outsoared  the  eagle,  and  outrun  the  deer, 
—  the  strength  that  is  made  perfect  in  our  weak- 
ness. 

And  if  I  did  not  know  that  there  is  such  a 
feeling  abiding  in  some  natures  like  a  perpet- 
ual pain,  I  would  not  mention  this  in  speaking 
especially  of  some  thorns  that  can  torment  us. 
Certainly  we  do  feel  the  pain  of  personal  defect, 
and  very  naturally,  because  the  standard  of 
physical  beauty  and  perfection  is  a  thing  civil- 
ized, and  sensible  men  can  no  more  alter  than 
they  can  alter  the  standard  of  geometry.  It  was 
beautifully  right  in  that  old  Mosaic  religion  which 
worshipped  only  Law,  to  enact  that  all  offerings 
made  to  God  should  be  physically  perfect.  The 
Lawgiver  wanted  to  touch  in  this  way  the  truth 
of  physical  perfection.  It  was  wise  and  good, 
too,  as  far  as  it  went,  that  the  old  Greek  should 
so  carefully  keep  the  ideal  beauty  he  dreamed  of 
as  the  perfection  of  humanity  actually  embodied 
in  marble  and  bronze  before  the  eyes  of  his  race. 
I  have  heard  it  doubted  whether  the  mother  sees 
what  we  see  when  one  of  her  children  fails  of 
this  standard.  I  know  you  can  never  guess  she 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  33 

does  from  any  word  that  falls  from  her  lips  ;  but 
she  reveals  her  sense  of  it  all  the  same,  as  the 
angels  would  reveal  it,  if  such  a  thing  as  this  im- 
perfection were  possible  in  heaven,  by  a  brooding, 
watchful  tenderness  which  knows  no  measure  ; 
which  will  guard  and  keep  from  the  child  itself 
the  sense  of  the  absent  gift,  while  it  magnifies 
immeasurably  the  gifts  that  are  there.  There  is 
such  a  sense  of  what  is  fair  and  true  in  the  out- 
ward appearance  always  in  the  common  heart, 
that  if  we  did  not  know  this,  we  could  still  guess 
it,  as  we  see  the  •  ceaseless  efforts  which  are 
made  to  hide  what  are  thought  to  be  defects,  as 
well  as  to  create  what  are  thought  to  be  beauties, 
but  are  often  blank  deformities,  like  that  mincing 
fall  from  the  line  of  uprightness,  just  now  the 
fashion  among  women.  We  admire  and  value 
physical  perfection.  We  notice  and  pity  defects, 
or  laugh  at  them  if  we  have  a  bad  heart.  There 
are  those  who  have  to  endure  them,  to  whom  they 
are  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  bringing  keen  suffering 
sometimes,  always  casting  something  of  a  shadow, 
and  begetting  a  morbid  brooding  in  some  natures 
far  worse  than  they  themselves  can  ever  be.  A 
feeling  of  bitterness,  a  sense  of  unfairness,  and  a 
3 


34         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

wish  that  everything  else  in  life  could  be  bar- 
tered for  this  one  thing,  -—  perfection  of  the  form 
or  face, 

Then,  again,  Paul's  thorn  in  the  flesh  may  have 
been  a  defect  in  his  utterance.  I  can  see  what 
a  thorn  it  ia  to  many,  that  they  can  never 
adequately  express  their  thought.  They  hear 
men  talk,  as  oil  runs,  word  slipping  after  word, 
without  break  or  end,  until  the  vessel  is  ex- 
hausted; or  read  essays  and  histories,  in  which 
the  words  fall  into  their  place  like  music ;  but 
in  the  orator  or  the  writer*  they  can  see  well 
enough  that  the  thought  bears  no  sort  of  pro- 
portion to  the  expression,  while  they  feel  they 
have  something  to  say  which  would  weigh  with 
thinkers  if  they  could  only  once  get  it  out  of  its 
matrix ;  but  it  is  like  a  diamond  away  down 
among  the  sunless  pillars  of  the  world,  and  there 
it  is  likely  to  stay.  "  You  will  find  him  to  be  a 
great  lumbering  wagon,  loaded  with  ingots  of 
gold,"  Robert  Hall  said  of  John  Foster,  when 
some  congregation  wrote  to  him  and  wanted  to 
know  whether  Foster  would  do  for  a  minister 
for  their  church,  "  and  I  hope  you  know  gold 
when  you  see  it,  or  else  he  will  never  do  for 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  35 

you."  They  called  him,  and  he  failed,  as  he  had 
failed  in  Dublin  and  Newcastle,  and  I  do  not  know 
where  besides.  "  Brother  Foster,"  William  Jay 
of  Bath  said  to  him  once,  "  why  don't  you  come 
and  preach  in  my  pulpit  ?  I  have  been  after  you 
for  years ;  my  people  want  to  hear  you  very 
much ;  now,  why  don't  you  come  ?  "  "  Brother 
Jay,"  Foster  said,  "  I  love  to  feel  there  is  one 
pulpit  in  England  in  which  I  can  preach  still, 
—  it  is  yours.  Now,  if  I  preach  only  once  for 
you,  as  you  want  me,  1  shall  not  have  a  pulpit.  I 
mean  to  hold  on  to  my  one  chance."  But  we  pos- 
sess two  volumes  of  lectures  by  John  Foster,  that 
are  among  the  grandest  things  of  their  sort  in 
existence.  They  were  born,  as  he  tells  us,  with 
a  sore  travail,  and  given  to  a  handful  of  people. 
He  stands  for  my  thought  of  this  thorn  in  the 
flesh,  that  is  just  a  dull  aching  to  get  expres- 
sion for  what  is  in  the  mind.  Great  numbers 
have  it,  in  one  way  and  another.  It  might 
not  seem  so  from  the  deluge  of  words  that  is 
swamping  church  and  commonwealth  together; 
but  it  is  so ;  and  "  I  am  slow  of  speech,"  is  a 
very  sad  cry,  as  you  hear  it  from  such  a  man  as 
first  said  it. 


36         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

Nothing  but  Paul's  saintliness  again,  and  sure 
footing  in  dangerous  places,  has  saved  him  from 
the  guess  that  his  thorn  in  the  flesh  was  some 
sort  of  a  bad  passion  or  appetite.  Very  sore  is 
this  pain,  and  very  common,  and  by  no  means  so 
criminal  as  we  sometimes  think  it  is.  In  the  far- 
reaching  influences  that  go  to  every  life,  and  away 
backward,  as  certainly  as  away  forward,  children 
are  sometimes  born  with  appetites  fatally  strong 
in  their  nature.  As  they  grow  up,  the  appetite 
grows  with  them,  and  speedily  becomes  a  pas- 
sion, the  passion  a  master,  the  master  a  tyrant, 
and  by  the  time  he  arrives  at  his  manhood  the 
man  is  a  slave.  There  is  no  doctrine  that  de- 
mands a  larger  vision  than  this  of  the  depravity 
of  human  nature.  I  believe,  in  the  judgment- 
day,  which  comes  at  last  to  every  soul,  two  men 
may  stand  before  the  great  white  throne  together, 
one  with  a  great  many  bad  things  to  answer  for, 
and  the  other  with  very  few ;  yet  the  one  who  ap- 
pears to  be  the  greater  criminal,  shall  be  deemed 
the  better  man  ;  because  he  has  fought  his  battle 
at  a  vast  disadvantage,  while  the  other  has  had 
everything  in  his  favor.  The  worse  man,  as  we 
have  to  call  him,  found  when  he  got  fairly  into 


THE  THORN  IN  THE   FLESH.  37 

life,  that  these  appetites  and  passions  would  r*age, 
and  tear,  and  trample  over  him,  and  had  to  be 
mastered  at  last  by  endeavors  which  would  have 
saved  ten  men  no  worse  tempted  than  the  one 
who  stands  beside  him.  "  Why  don't  you  make 
an  effort  and  put  your  passion  down,  once  for 
all,"  a  good  friend  of  mine,  a  preacher,  said  to 
one  of  these  poor  sinners.  "  Doctor,"  he  replied, 
"  I've  tried  more,  and  harder,  I  believe,  than  you 
need  try  twenty  times  over,  and  I  am  nothing 
but  an  old  sinner  still."  You  see  it  is  like  two 
men  coming  of  age,  and  getting  each  one  a 
farm,  and  going  to  work  to  raise  a  crop.  The 
one  farm  is  fair  and  sweet,  has  been  watched  and 
tended  and  kept  in  good  order ;  the  other  is  as 
full  of  weeds  and  briers  as  a  place  can  be,  with  all 
the  fences  down,  and  neglect  wherever  you  turn. 
Now,  what  merit  is  there  in  the  one  man's  keep- 
ing the  good  place  good,  in  comparison  with  that 
by  which  the  other  has  made  the  bad  place 
better.  Old  Dr.  Mason  used  to  say,,  as  much 
grace  as  would  make  John  a  saint,  would  barely 
keep  Peter  from  knocking  a  man  down.  The 
appetite  which  has  grown  into  a  passion,  that 
needs  to  be  bitted  and  bridled,  or  guarded  as  you 


38         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

guard  wild  beasts  within  iron  bars,  is  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh,  a  dreadful  sharp  thorn,  from  which  its 
possessor  can  never  be  free,  as  men  are  free  who 
possess  a  nature  full  of  fine  balances ;  and  to  be  a 
man  at  last  under  such  disadvantages,  not  to 
mention  a  saint,  is  as  fine  a  piece  of  .grace  as  can 
well  be  seen.  Everywhere  about  us  there  are 
those  who  feel  this  thorn.  I  heard  a  man  say 
once,  that  for  eight  and  twenty  years  the 
soul  within  him  had  to  stand,  like  an  unsleep- 
ing sentinel,  guarding  his  appetite  for  strong 
drink. 

And  so  I  might  go  on  to  tell  almost  endlessly 
about  these  thorns  in  the  flesh.  With  one  man,  it 
is  every  now  and  then  a  black  day,  like  those  that 
came  to  Luther ;  with  another,  it  is  the  bitter 
memory  of  a  great  sin,  or  a  great  wrong,  or  a 
great  mistake,  which  stays  like  a  ghost,  and  can- 
not be  laid.  It  is  a  pain  in  the  citadel  of  life  with 
another,  that  can  never  be  removed,  but  will  rack 
and  wrench  at  its  own  will,  in  spite  of  all  that  the 
doctors  can  do.  While  with  men  like  great 
Edward  Irving,  and  Robert  Hall,  and  Jonathan 
Swift,  it  is  the  fine  edge,  as  sharp  as  that  over 
which  the  Mussulman  dreams  he  will  pass  into 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  39 

Paradise,  dividing  the  most  transcendent  genius 
from  its  saddest  ruins. 

Now,  then,  secondly,  I  was  to  ask  what  we 
can  do  about  it.  I  say,  we  ourselves  can  do  one 
of  two  very  different  things,  —  we  can  make 
the  best  of  it,  or  the  worst  of  it.  And  I  do  not 
mean  just  now  what  Paul  did  with  his  thorn 
when  he  went  to  the  Infinite  Mercy  about  it,  but 
what  we  can  do  about  ours,  apart  from  the  ques- 
tion of  that  Divine  Power  to  help  us,  which  I  shall 
have  to  mention  thirdly,  as  the  most  blessed  thing 
of  all.  If  I  find  myself,  for  instance,  in  early  life 
in  the  possession  of  a  passion  that  is  rapidly  grow- 
ing into  a  curse,  I  can  submit  to  its  dictate  with- 
out a  struggle,  as  I  see  some  do,  can  give  in  to  its 
fascination  with  a  shameful  subservience,  I  can 
let  it  drag  me  down  into  its  caves  and  devour  me 
alive,  or  I  can  stand  up  and  fight  it ;  I  do  not 
say  conquer,  I  say  fight  with  all  the  might  there 
is  in  me  ;  fight  for  my  life  as  I  would  fight  for  my 
home,  and  my  wife  and  children,  or  anything 
that  is  supremely  worth  fighting  for ;  because 
I  take  it,  that  apart  from  God's  grace,  there 
is  a  certain  manliness  possible  to  every  man 
who  is  still  in  any  sense  in  possession  of  himself. 


40         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

I  notice  the  police  in  London  have  lately  assert- 
ed they  never  feel  in  any  danger  from  the  secret 
malice  of  the  London  thieves,  no  matter  how  often 
they  may  have  brought  them  into  trouble,  if,  as 
they  say,  they  have  been  on  the  square  with  them, 
told  the  exact  truth  about  their  rogueries,  and 
shown  them  such  fair  play  as  even  a  rogue  thinks 
he  has  a  right  to.  It  shows  how  even  in  that 
utterly  lost  life,  one  little  spot  is  still  clear  for  the 
growth  of  gome  poor  spark  of  manliness,  that  shall 
maintain  the  difference  between  the  truth  and  the 
lie,  while  yet  the  living  depends  upon  perpetual 
falsehood.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  again,  any  man, 
as  a  rule,  more  empty  of  what  we  would  call 
Eeligion,  than  the  common  soldier.  His  whole 
life,  poor  fellow,  makes  it  very  hard  for  him  to 
have  any  sense  of  it,  and  he  has  very  little. 
But  it  has  come  out  -since  the  great  Sepoy 
rebellion  in  India,  that  numbers  of  these  men 
in  the  English  army  were  offered  the  alternative 
of  renouncing  the  Christian  religion  and  embra- 
cing that  of  the  rebels,  or  being  murdered  by  all 
the  horrible  ways  the  hate  and  rage  of  the 
pagans  could  invent.  It  is  believed  that  they 
died  to  a  man :  not  one  instance  as  yet  has  come 


THE  THORN   IN  THE  FLESH.  41 

to  light  of  any  common  soldier  giving  way.  He 
might  not  be  a  Christian,  or  have  seen  the  inside 
of  a  church  since  he  was  carried  there  as  a  babe 
to  be  baptized.  He  might  only  use  the  name  of 
him  who  died  on  the  tree  for  blasphemy,  and  have 
no  conception  of  the  grace  that  abides  forever  at 
the  heart  of  the  holy  church  throughout  all  the 
world.  But  he  was  a  man  belonging  on  that 
side,  and  the  pincers  could  not  tear  that  simple 
manliness  out  of  his  heart,  or  the  fire  burn  it 
out.  He  knew  that  his  sisters  and  brothers  sang 
the  old  hymns,  and  sent  their  children  to  the 
Sunday  schools,  and  that  the  white-haired  father 
and  mother  were  at  rest  in  the  old  churchyard. 
He  knew  no  hymns,  he  had  no  children,  he  would 
be  thrown  to  the  tigers  in  the  jungle  what 
time  his  soul  had  gone  out  on  its  doleful  way; 
but  he  was  a  man  of  that  stock.  He  might 
n*eet  them  again.  He  would  tell  them,  if  he 
did,  that  he  died  with  the  Cross  in  his  eyes  and 
not  the  Creseeot,  and  so  he  went  to  his  doom.  And 
so  there  may  be  manliness  where  there  is  little 
grace,  if  by  grace  you  mean  that  gracious  thing, 
a  pure  and  holy  life  and  a  conscious  religion.  It 
is  all  I  plead  for  in  this  second  thought.  I  may 


42         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

have  the  thorn  in  my  flesh  of  a  personal  blemish. 
I  can  bear  it  like  a  man,  manfully  and  modestly, 
until  it  almost  shines  with  beauty.  I  may  be 
always  aware  of  my  painful  unreadiness  and 
inability  to  be  what  my  nature  assures  me  I 
might  be.  I  can  be  so  manly  in  bearing  my 
burden  that  my  silence  shall  be  golden.  I  may 
find  myself  in  possession  of  an  enemy  within  my 
nature,  more  dangerous  than  the  whole  banded 
might  of  the  world.  I  stand  for  something 
still ;  I  do  not  belong  on  that  side ;  I  belong  to 
the  banner  of  the  cross :  a  voice  in  my  soul 
whispers,  "  Son  of  man,  stand  upon  thy  feet !  " 
"  Did  I  break  down  ?  was  I  unmanned  ?  "  one  of 
the  great  men  I  have  mentioned  said,  when  the 
thorn  in  the  flesh  had  hurt  him  so  terribly  that 
he  lost  his  consciousness.  He  felt  he  must  be  a 
man  even  then,  Indeed,  I  know  no  one  condition 
of  life  in  which  the  thorn  can  pierce  us,  which  ca,n 
reveal  a  more  beautiful  manliness  or  womanli- 
ness than  our  quietness  through  intense  phys- 
ical, or  mental,  or  spiritual  pain.  To  be  steady 
then,  is  to  be  steady  indeed.  I  bow  before 
such  valor  with  a  bare  head.  To  soe  the  pa- 
tient  face  on  which  pain  has  graven  its  lines. 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  43 

reflecting  an  unconquered  soul,  is  to  be  aware  of 
a  royalty  to  which  the  purple  robe  and  acclama- 
tion are  a  vain  show. 

I  said,  thirdly,  we  must  see  what  can  come 
of  the  thorn  in  the  flesh,  if  we  find  out  Paul's 
way  of  dealing  with  it. 

From  what  he  feels  it  clearly  appears  he  can 
tell  us  about  his  own  particular  case,  that  he 
tried  the  best  he  knew ;  bore  his  trouble  man 
fashion,  as  well  as  he  could ;  but  then  found 
he  was  still  unable  to  win  much  of  a  victo- 
ry. The  pain  was  there  still,  and  perhaps  the 
shame  of  it,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  would  have  to 
give  way  at  last,  and  go  down,  as  Christian  did 
when  he  was  fighting  Apollyon.  So,  in  the  sim- 
ple old  fashion,  he  took  the  matter  into  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  said,  "  I  want  this  thorn 
removed :  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  I  am  sick  of 
trying  to  get  along  with  it."  But  the  Judge 
said,  "  No,  it  must  stay :  that  is  in  the  nature 
of  things,  and  cannot  be  altered.  To  take  it  away 
would  be  to  destroy  the  grace  to  which  it  points. 
I  will  not  take  the  bane,  but  I  will  give  you 
another  blessing." 

Lately,  when  I  crossed  Suspension  Bridge,  I 


44        THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

got  talking  with  a  gentleman  about  the  crys- 
tallization of  iron.  "We  agreed  that  every  train 
which  crossed  the  bridge  did  something  to 
disintegrate  the  iron  particles  and  break  the 
bridge  down.  It  was  clear  to  us  both,  that  if 
this  process  could  go  on  long  enough,  there 
would  be  a  last  train,  which  would  shoot  right 
down  into  the  green,  boiling  gulf,  with  all  the 
horrors  of  the  terrible  catastrophe.  But  we  con- 
cluded this  would  probably  never  come  to  pass, 
because  we  are  finding  out  how  long  it  takes  to 
crystallize  a  piece  of  iron ;  and  so,  before  there  is 
any  great  danger,  ah1  these  strands  and  cables 
will  be  made  over  again  in  the  fire  and  under  the 
hammer,  and  come  out  as  strong  and  good  as 
ever;  so  the  fire  and  hammer,  in  such  a  case, 
would  be  in  themselves  the  best  blessing  that 
can  come  to  these  ever-weakening  strands. 
Nothing  else  could  do  them  any  good.  To  take 
them  out,  put  others  in,  and  then  let  these  lie  at 
rest  on  the  banks  of  the  Niagara,  would  be  no 
sort  of  use.  The  iron-masters  would  laugh  at 
you  for  doing  that.  They  would  say,  "  That 
will  do  more  harm  than  good ;  it  will  make  the 
strands  eternally  unfit  for  their  purpose  :  only  the 


THE  THORN  IN  THE   FLESH.  45 

hammer  and  fire  can  make  them  very  good,  and 
these  can  make  them  better  and  stronger  than 
ever."  Is  not  this  also  the  law  of  life,  that  the 
fineness  and  strength  essential  to  our  best  being, 
and  to  make  us  do  our  best  work,  come  by  the 
hammer  and  the  fire  ?  by  the  thorn  in  the  flesh,  the 
trouble  and  pain  in  our  life,  which  may  act  in  us 
as  the  fire  acts  in  the  iron,  welding  the  fibre  afresh, 
and  creating  the  whole  anew  (as  the  Apostle  would 
say)  unto  good  works  ?  We  go  along  in  our  easy 
way,  with  nothing  in  particular  to  do  or  bear  be- 
yond ordinary  duties  and  burdens ;  and  then  there 
is  nothing  particular  in  our  nature.  But  suddenly 
some  great  trouble  comes,  —  some  thorn  in  the 
flesh, — and  breaks  up  the  old  monotony.  The 
good  time,  in  that  sense,  is  over ;  and  then, 
though  we  may  feel  sore,  and  savage  about  it, 
towards  the  Providence  that  is  above  us,  we 
are  drawn  towards  those  nearest  to  us  with 
a  new  tenderness  and  trust.  The  strands  that 
bind  us  are  better  ;  we  are  better  men  and 
women.  I  dare  trust  the  worst  brute  in  this 
city  to  be  good  to  his  wife,  if  ho  has  helped  to 
nurse  the  buried  babe  she  is  breaking  her  heart 
about.  The  thorn,  for  the  time  he  feels  it,  has 


46         THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

made  a  man  of  him.  And  so  we  touch,  right 
here,  the  element  in  the  strength  that  Paul  had, 
•while  he  had  the  thorn.  The  trouble  itself,  wha1> 
ever  it  was,  held  the  new  power.  He  found  it 
was  as  much  more  to  his  life,  as  Calvary  is  more 
than  Canaan  to  the  life  of  the  world,  and  then 
he  gave  up  all  idea  of  getting  rid  of  the  thorn. 
So,  as  we  can  see  that  not  the  weddings,  but  the 
crucifixions,  are  the  mighty  things  of  history : 
not  the  festivals,  but  the  battles ;  not  the  ova- 
tions, but  the  martyrdoms, — we  find  the  first  grace 
that  can  come  from  Heaven  to  help  us  bear  our 
thorn  in  the  flesh,  whatever  it  be,  —  a  personal 
misfortune;  inability  to  be  all  that  we  feel  we 
ought  to  be ;  the  possession  of  a  passion  we  have 
to  watch  with  unslumbering  care  ;  pain  that  defies 
all  doctors  ;  darkness  of  the  spirit,  against  which 
there  is  no  argument ;  the  sore  of  a  bitter  old 
sin ;  a  home  in  which  there  is  no  light  of 
a  true  love ;  a  great  and  incurable  disappoint- 
ment ;  or  the  death  of  our  brightest  and  best 
—  I  say  these  may  be  the  very  conditions  of 
the  grace  which  is  made  "perfect  in  our  weak- 
ness.'1 Joyfulness  has  its  own  place;  glad- 
ness is  the  wine  of  life ;  but  the  life-blood 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.         47 

comes  of  the  struggle,  and  the  Saviour  is  the  Man 
of  Sorrows.  Yet  we  can  never  be  sure  of  this 
as  we  should  be,  until  the  great  thing  Paul 
had,  to  make  the  best  of  his  thorn,  is  ours  also, 
and  that  is,  the  uplifting  and  out-going  of  the 
heart  to  God.  The  out-going  of  the  heart  in 
faith,  and  prayer,  and  patience ;  and  the  confi- 
dence, that  while  I  rest  in  the  sense  of  my 
Father's  wisdom  and  love,  and  do  the  best  I 
can,  things  will  be  just  about  what  they  should 
be,  and  would  be,  if  I  were  the  sole  being  besides 
the  Father  in  the  universe,  and  he  had  no 
thought  but  to  make  everything  come  into  har- 
mony with  my  desire.  It  is  always  the  old  his- 
tory ove"r  again  we  have  to  realize,  before  we 
can  be  entirely  at  rest.  The  cup  is  held  to  our 
lips,  and  we  shrink  back,  and  cry,  "  Let  this  pass 
from  me ;  "  but  then  the  soul  says,  "  The  cup 
that  my  Father  has  given  me,  shall  I  not  drink 
it?"  and  we  say,  "Thy  will  be  done,"  and  then 
there  is  quiet.  The  sun  shines  in  the  soul  then, 
though  it  is  black  night  outside  ;  and  though 
we  have  to  bear  after  that  the  kiss  of  the  traitor, 
and  the  curse  of  the  fiend,  and  the  crown  of 
thorns,  all  in  the  flesh  together,  and  the  cross  and 


48  THE  THORN  IN   THE   FLESH. 

shame,  we  can  bear  all,  and  be  all,  while  we 
rest  in  God,  and  look  up  to  our  great  Forerunner, 
whose  life,  from  the  time  he  came  forth  to  help 
us  bear  our  burdens  was  one  long  pain,  the 
thorn  always  hurting;  that  so  we  might  learn 
how  the  way  to  the  loftiest  life  in  heaven  may 
lie  through  the  roughest  ways  of  earth. 

"  'Tis  alone  of  His  appointing 

That  our  feet  on  thorns  have  trod  ; 
Suffering,  pain,  renunciation, 
Only  bring  us  nearer  God. 

"  Strength  sublime  may  rise  from  weakness, 

Groans  be  turned  to  songs  of  praise ; 
Nor  are  life's  divinest  labors 
Only  told  by  songs  of  praise." 


III. 

EVERY  MAN  A  PENNY. 

MATTHEW  xx.  9  :  "He  gave  every  man  a  penny." 

1  SUPPOSE  we  have  all  noticed  the  curious  diver- 
sity of  the  seeds  we  sow  in  the  spring.  There 
are  some  that  shoot  out  and  grow  up  days  before 
the  others  from  the  same  paper,  sown  in  the 
same  bed,  and  that  seemed  exactly  like  the  rest. 
It  is  so  with  a  number  of  fruit  trees  in  a  young 
orchard.  Each  tree  may  get  an  equal  care,  and 
appear  to  have  the  same  natural  advantages,  but 
one  will  spring  out  into  an  early  fruitfumess, 
while  another  holds  back,  summer  after  summer, 
and  perhaps,  only  when  the  husbandman  begins  to 
despair  of  its  ever  doing  any  good,  it  bears  fruit. 
It  is  so  with  boys.  One  lad  will  be  bright  and 
promising,  the  joy  of  his  tutor,  and  the  pride  of 
his  mother,  right  from  the  start ;  no  one  can  tell 
exactly  how  he  learned  his  letters ;  they  seemed  to 
come  to  him  by  instinct ;  he  knew  them  when  he 
saw  them,  or,  as  Plato  would  say,  he  re-collected 
4  49 


50  EVERY  MAN  A   PENNY. 

them.  But  another  lad,  on  the  same  form,  perhaps 
in  the  same  family,  is  dull  and  backward ;  he  has 
quite  forgotten  his  first  letters  before  he  learned 
the  last.  But  after  a  good  while  there  is  the  dawn 
of  a  new  day ;  then  the  backward  boy  has  a  whole 
sunrise  to  himself,  and  opens  out  into  an  equal 
manhood  with  the  best  of  his  brighter  fellows. 

It  is  so  again  with  woman  in  the  experi- 
ences and  life  of  the  heart.  A  shrinking,  retir- 
ing, near-sighted  woman  waits  and  waits  among 
the  Yorkshire  hills,  saying,  wistfull^,  to  herself, 
"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  It  has  been  a  long,  sore  trial 
to  wait  and  watch  as  she  has  done.  In  her  life- 
time she  has  known  not  a  few  of  her  own  age  who 
have  long  since  solved  that  problem :  some  are 
wedded  and  happy  in  their  homes ;  others  have 
found  their  true  place  as  teachers,  writers,  or 
artists,  and  are  crowned  already  with  honor. 
This  woman  has  had  great  sorrows,  find  sore 
losses,  and  her  day  is  wearing  on  into  the  af- 
ternoon, still  she  has  heard  no  voice  bidding 
her  go  work  in  the  vineyard.  There  is  a  letter 
written  to  Wordsworth  while  she  stands  there  in 
the  market-place  waiting  for  the  Master,  that  is, 
in  my  opinion,  the  most  pathetic  cry  ever  heard 


EVERY  MAN   A   PENNY.  51 

in  our  lifetime.  "  Sir,"  she  says,  ''  I  earnestly 
entreat  you  to  read  and  judge  what  I  have  sent 
you.  From  the  day  of  my  birth  to  this  day  I 
have  lived  in  seclusion  here  among  the  hills, 
where  I  could  neither  know  what  I  was  nor  what 
I  could  do.  I  have  read,  for  the  reason  that  I 
have  eaten  bread,  because  it  was  a  real  craving 
of  nature,  and  have  written  on  the  same  principle. 
But  now  I  have  arrived  at  an  age  when  I  must  do 
something.  The  powers  I  possess  must  be  used 
to  a  certain  end  ;  and  as  I  do  not  knowthem  my- 
self, I  must  ask  others  what  they  are  worth: 
there  is  no  one  here  to  tell  me  if  they  are  worthy ; 
and  if  they  are  worthless,  there  is  no  one  to  tell 
me  that.  I  beseech  you  to  help  me."  What  she 
sends  to  Wordsworth  then,  is  poor ;  she  has  writ- 
ten many  volumes,  all  poor ;  has  waited  in  the 
market-place  and  done  no  work ;  but  at  last,  the 
Master,  walking  there,  sees  her  wistful  face 
turned  towards  him,  and  says, "  Go  into  my  vine- 
yard." Then  she  bends  over  some  small  folded 
sheets  of  coarse  paper  until  her  face  almost 
touches  them,  and  in  one  book  she  storms  the 
heart  of  England  and  America,  and  in  the  one 
hour  that  was  left  her  she  won  her  penny. 


52  EVERY  MAN  A  PENNY. 

Another  woman  sits  in  her  room  in  pleasant  old 
Canterbury ;  her  life  has  been  lonely  also,  and  she 
says  to  herself,  "What  shall  I  do?"  She  feels 
about  and  finds  a  pen,  and  it  is  not  hard  to 
see  that  there  is  a  gift  of  God  in  the  things  she 
is  doing  long  before  she  takes  her  great  place ; 
still  it  is  only  waiting.  The  Master  comes, 
and  the  voice  says,  "  Go  work  in  my  vineyard." 
Then,  as  she  wiles  us  with  the  story  of  a  wo- 
man, who  was  a  Methodist  and  a  preacher,  and 
tells  of  the  fortunes  of  those  who  were  subject  to 
her  irresistible  sway,  she  opens  such  hidden  wells 
of  tender  truth  and  goodness,  and  dear  homely 
humanity,  as  this  world  hardly  believed  could  be 
treasured  in  its  heart  in  these  latter  days ;  and 
now  in  other  books  following  that,  she  has  gone 
into  the  first  rank  of  those  that  work  for  God 
in  that  corner  of  his  vineyard,  and  has  won  her 
penny. 

It  is  so  again  in  the  world  of  men.  One  man  starts 
ahead,  and  distances  all  about  him ;  he  will  never 
have  an  equal,  is  the  verdict  of  the  world ;  anoth- 
er, of  the  same  age,  stands  where  he  was  placed. 
At  last  something  stirs  him,  and  he  starts  too ;  and 
while  the  first  man  never  stops,  the  last  comes  up 


EVERY  MAN   A   PENNY.  53 

and  runs  abreast,  or  gDes  ahead.  Charles  Dickens 
sits  in  his  chambers  in  London  in  the  full  fame 
of  his  Pickwick  Papers.  He  is  preparing  a  new 
book,  to  be  brought  out  as  that  was,  with  illustra 
tions.  A  man  comes  in,  older  than  himself,  but 
still  a  young  man,  and  says,  "  I  have  come,  sir, 
to  show  you  some  drawings,  and  to  get  the  place, 
if  I  can,  of  artist  for  your  new  story."  The 
young  author  glances  over  the  sketches,  and 
then  says,  kindly,  "They  will  not  do."  The 
man  goes  home,  puts  aside  his  pencil,  partially, 
and  takes  a  pen.  He  works  for  years  after  this, 
writing,  small  books  and  pieces  for  magazines,  but 
wins  no  notice,  and  is  almost  altogether  unknown. 
One  day,  however,  he  goes  to  a  bookseller  in 
London  with  a  new  work,  asks  him  to  print  it, 
and  fails  to  persuade  him.  Another  agrees  to  do 
it,  with  fear  of  the  result ;  but  when  the  book  is 
printed,  the  most  popular  writer  in  Britain  has, 
from  that  day,  a  divided  kingdom.  And  when 
this  man  died,  suddenly,  some  years  ago,  tens 
of  thousands,  who  had  never  seen  his  face, 
mourned  for  him  as  for  a  dear  friend ;  and  now 
vast  numbers,  of  the  truest  insight,  will  tell 
you  that  the  poor  artist,  whose  work  was  kindly 


54  EVEEY  MAN   A   PENNY. 

refused,  was  the  first  man  of  his  age  in  the 
department  of  letters,  in  \rhich  he  once  would 
have  been  glad  and  proud  to  be  a  servant  of 
one  of  the  servants  of  the  Master  who  hires  and 
pays  us  all. 

It  is  so  again  in  our  practical  common  life. 
One  man  begins  early,  and  is  a  notable  man 
from  the  start.  He  goes  on  in  his  career,  gather- 
ing honor  and  success ;  the  common  heart  is  in  his 
hand ;  when  he  speaks  all  listen ;  when  he  writes 
all  read.  Another  works  hard  on  a  frontier  farm, 
or  teaches  a  country  school,  or  tries  a  flat-boat  on 
the  river,  feeling  dimly  all  the  while  that,  this  is 
only  waiting;  the  time  has  not  come  for  him  to 
enter  the  vineyard.  But  at  last,  as  he  stands 
watching  and  waiting,  the  voice  says,  "  Go 
thou  also ;  "  and  presently  those  who  have  been 
the  longest  at  work  feel  that  he  will  win  his 
penny.  He  had  but  one  or  two  hours ;  he  suffers 
no  loss ;  he  stands,  at  last,  abreast  of  the  very 
foremost  of  all. 

This  is  true  again  of  the  spiritual  life.  The 
old  prophet  kept  his  flock,  or  followed  his  plough ; 
and  the  old  scholar  drank  at  all  the  fountains  of 
wisdom  and  inspiration.  Josephus  and  Philo  are 


EVERY  MAN   A   PENNY.  55 

masters  in  the  highest  attainments  of  their  age ; 
John  and  Peter  are  peasants  and  fishermen ; 
Paschal  and  Jeremy  Taylor  seem  as  if  they  were 
born  for  the  sacred  robes,  so  early  and  so  beauti- 
fully do  they  wear  them ;  John  Bunyan  is,  to  all 
seeming,  a  born  tinker,  and  George  Fox  a  born 
cobbler.  So  there  is  for  them  a  long  waiting  and 
watching,  and  the  cry,  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  At 
last  the  voice  says,  "  Go  thou  also."  Then  the 
grace  and  glory  of  the  vines  they  have  tended 
are  a  world's  wonder,  and  their  fruit  a  world's 
blessing. 

This  is  true,  finally,  of  our  country.  England 
arid  Germany  begin  in  the  early  morning,  and  in 
the  wild  woods  of  Britain  and  Gaul,  to  earn  their 
penny  ;  and  it  is  their  lot  for  long  centuries  to 
toil,  winning,  as  they  can,  this  and  that  from  the 
wilderness, —  trial  by  jury,  Magna  Charta,  free 
speech,  free  press,  free  pulpit,  —  and  when  many 
hours  are  past,  and  much  hard  work  is  done,  a 
voice  comes  to  a  new  nation,  and  tells  of  a  new 
world,  and  says,  "  Go  work  there  ;  "  and  when  the 
old  world  looks  up,  the  new  is  abreast  of  those 
nations  that  have  borne  the  burden  and  heat  of 
the  day,  and  will  have  its  penny.  And  in  this 


56  EVERY  MAN  A   PENNY. 

new  world  itself,  there  are  men  living  here  in 
Chicago,  who  can  remember  very  well  when  our 
great  prairies  lifted  their  faces  wistfully  to  the 
sun,  and  cried,  "  No  man  hath  hired  us  ; "  when 
our  streets,  now  so  full  of  life,  sounded  only 
to  the  voice  of  the  mighty  waters  and  the  cry 
of  the  savage.  Now  the  whole  civilized  world 
has  to  come  and  see  what  has  been  done. 
Not  many  years  more  will  pass,  we  who  live 
here  believe,  before  this  new  worker  will  be 
abreast  of  the  oldest,  and  will  win  her  penny. 
For  so  God  comes  and  goes :  selecting,  calling, 
and  settling  all  things  according  to  the  counsel  of 
his  own  will.  No  man  can  stay  his  hand,  or  say, 
What  doest  thou?  He  sitteth  in  the  heavens, 
and  his  kingdom  is  in  all  the  earth.  "For  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  unto  a  man  that  is  a 
householder,  which  went  out  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  at  the  third  hour,  and  at  the  sixth, 
and  at  the  ninth,  and  at  the  eleventh  hour,  and 
hired  laborers  for  a  penny  a  day.  So  when  the 
even  was  come,  the  Lord  said,  Call  the  laborers, 
and  give  them  their  hire,  beginning  from  the  first 
even  unto  the  last.  And  they  that  came  first, 
and  they  that  came  last,  received  every  man  his 
penny." 


EVERY   MAN   A   PENNY.  57 

The  pafable  is  said  to  be  meant  for  a  lesson  to 
the  Jews  at  the  moment  when  God  was  about 
to  call  the  Gentiles  into  his  vineyard  also,  and 
give  them  a  place  they  had  never  filled  before  in 
working  out  his  will.  It  is  possible  this  mean- 
ing may  lie  within  the  parable  in  some  re- 
mote way ;  but  I  cannot  believe  that  this  is 
all  the  Saviour  meant  when  he  spoke  to  the 
Jews.  The  truth  is,  that  then  as  now,  and  for- 
ever, there  are  great  numbers  of  men  and  women 
waiting  in  the  market-place,  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 
watching  for  the  coming  of  the  Master  to  set  them 
to  work ;  to  give  them  their  true  place  in  this 
life  ;  the  place  they  know  they  can  fill  —  men  and 
women  who  have  never  found  their  calling,  ami 
yet  have  never  ceased  to  watch  for  it,  and  wait 
with  weary,  hungry,  patient  eyes,  and  to  say, 
"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  We  look  at  them,  very  likely, 
as  we  stand  in  our  place  doing  our  work,  and 
despise  them  for  what  we  call  their  shiftlessness ; 
when  if  we  did  but  know  the  whole  truth,  we 
might  wonder  over  them  for  their  power  to  do 
what  is  harder  than  any  hard  work  ever  could  be 
to  such  natures, — to  wait  for  work,  such  as  they 
ought  to  do,  and  hear  no  command  to  go.  These 


58  EVEKY  MAN  A  PENNY. 

were  in  the  world  then  as  they  are  now,  and  this 
Divine  soul,  which  saw  everything  that  had  a  sor- 
row in  it,  saw  them;  and  the  heart  that  had  a 
sympathy,  sweet  and  abundant  as  a  full  honey- 
comb, took  them  all  in,  and  then  cried  to  the 
Father  to  know  the  truth  about  this;  and  the 
truth  came  in  this  parable  of  those  that  work,  and 
those  that  wait ;  touching  with  its  consolation  the 
waiters,  too ;  giving  them  their  place  in  life  and 
their  promise  ;  and  bidding  the  worker  pause  in 
his  hasty  judgment  of  those  who  wait  until  he  is 
quite  sure  that  the  waiter  is  not  the  most  wor- 
thy of  the  two. 

For  this,  I  think,  must  be  clear,  first  of  all,  as  we 
study  this  mystery  of  waiters  and  workers,  there 
can  be  no  pleasure  in  waiting,  in  standing  all  the 
day  idle,  and  looking  wistfully,  as  the  hours  pass 
by,  for  some  one  to  hire  us,  feeling  the  beat  and 
tingle  in  nerve  and  brain  that  would  gladly  find 
some  worthy  task  where  nothing  worthy  comes. 
It  is  not  the  young  man  whose  whole  career  is  a 
constant  success,  or  the  young  woman  who  finds 
her  home  or  her  place  at  once  in  life  ;  not  these 
the  tender  intention  of  the  parable  touches  first 
and  last :  it  is  the  young  man  who  has  to  stand 


EVERY  MAN  A   PENNY.  59 

back,  and  notice  painfully  how  he  is  distanced 
by  his  fortunate  or  clever  companions  who  go 
right  on ;  and  the  woman,  whose  hair,  by  and  by, 
begins  to  show  threads  of  silver  while  she  is 
compelled  to  look  wistfully  and  wofully  into  the 
silent  heavens,  into  the  deeps  of  our  human  life, 
everywhere  watching  for  the  coming  of  the  Lord," 
who  shall  tell  her  what  to  do.  Yet  the  day  wears 
on,  and  she  cries,  as  one  hour  strikes  after  another, 
''Woe  is  me  !  What  shall  I  do  ?"  It  is  the  man 
who  is  dimly  conscious  of  power  and  purpose 
Borne  where  within  his  soul,  yet  is  compelled, 
year  after  year,  to  toil  on  twenty  acres  of  hard- 
scrabble,  or  push  a  flat-boat,  or  teach  a  district 
school  and  board  round,  aware  all  the  time  that 
this  is  only  waiting  for  the  coming  of  the  Lord, 
—  yet  to  wait,  and  watch,  and  hear  no  voice. 
It  13  into  these  wistful  eyes  the  compassionate 
Christ  looks  as  he  speaks  his  parable,  and  not  into 
ours,  who  are  working  where  we  want  to  be,  and 
feel  sure  of  our  wages. 

And  this,  if  I  understand  the  parable,  is  the 
first  consolation  we  touch  in  it,  and  good  for  all 
time.  The  ultimate  reason  why  some  have  to 
stand  and  wait,  who  sorely  want  to  work,  rests  not 


60  EVERY  MAN  A   PENNY. 

with  us  at  all,  but  with  the  Lord,  who  calls  us 
when  he  will,  and  gives  us  our  reward ;  not 
merely  for  working  faithfully,  but  for  waiting 
faithfully  as  well.  It  shows  us  that  away  down 
within  this  want  of  power  to  see  and  do,  we  are 
to  believe  in  the  will  of  God  concerning  us.  So 
that  what  we  see  in  such  lives  as  I  have  touched, 
for  example,  we  must  see  in  the  life  of  every 
worthy  man  and  woman  who  has  to  wait  and 
watch;  who  tries  and  fails, and  has  to  stand  back, 
God  knows  why,  we  say  in  our  pride,  and  they 
in  their  patience.  We  are  both  right ;  God  does 
know  why ;  and  that  is  the  most  intimate  reason. 
He  has  determined  it  shall  be  so,  that  his  pur- 
pose may  be  answered  in  that  one  life,  and  in  the 
whole  commonwealth  of  the  world.  As  we  seem 
to  see  the  things  through  a  glass  darkly,  when  we 
notice  how  he  kept  North  America  waiting  when 
China  was  called,  and  then  kept  the  West  waiting 
when  the  East  was  called ;  waiters  and  workers, 
—  this  has  always  been  the  Divine  order.  Lands, 
nations,  providences,  discoveries,  the  whole  world, 
outside  the  personal  life  of  the  man  and  woman, 
are  full  of  my  parable. 

So,  then,  when  I  see  a  young  man  slow  and 


EVERY   MAN   A  PENNY.  61 

backward,  and  in  a  poor  place,  whose  soul  I  know 
would  expand  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity  and 
fill  a  better  place  ;  or  a  woman,  waiting  with  her 
unfulfilled  life  in  her  heart,  willing  to  give  it  in 
any  high,  pure  fashion  to  the  Lord,  if  he  will  but 
come  and  take  it ;  or  a  preacher,  with  a  mighty 
power  to  preach  somewhere  in  his  nature,  if  he 
could  only  find  the  clew  to  it ;  or  a  man  who  has 
waited  through  his  lifetime  for  the  Lord  to  show 
him  the  true  church,  the  place  where  he  can  feel 
that  the  religious  heart  of  him  is  at  rest ;  —  if  in 
these  things,  or  in  any  of  them,  I  feel  I  have 
found  my  place,  and  am  doing  my  work,  I  must 
feel  very  tenderly,  and  judge  very  generously,  all 
the  waiters  in  all  these  ways ;  must  call  up  thia 
picture  of  the  faces  so  wistful  in  the  old  market- 
place, watching  for  the  coming  of  the  Lord :  '•  Who 
has  made  me  to  differ,  who  has  called  me  at  the 
first  hour,  why  do  I  succeed  where  others  fail  ?  " 
It  is  the  gift  of  God ;  it  is  not  of  works,  lest  any 
man  should  boast.  It  is  the  difference  between 
the  seed  the  husbandman,  for  his  own  good  rea- 
son, will  leave  dark  and  still  in  the  granary,  and 
the  seed  he  sows  which  can  spring  at  once  to  the 
sun  and  the  sweet  airs  of  summer.  It  is  the 


62  EVERY   MAN   A   PENNY. 

difference  in  the  home,  in  our  conduct  towards 
our  children,  when  we  know  it  is  best  to  let  one 
go  forward  in  the  school  and  keep  another  back  ; 
yet  both  decisions  come  out  of  our  heart's  best 
love,  and  are  made  through  what  we  know,  but  the 
children  do  not  know,  of  their  present  and  future. 
So  this  working  and  waiting  lies  in  the  will  of 
God,  and  God  is  my  Father,  and  this  is  the  pre- 
destination of  my  Father's  love. 

There  is  another  thing  in  this  parable  we  must 
not  miss ;  I  have  touched  it  already,  but  not  all  it 
needs  :  it  is  the  eager  wistfulness  and  readiness 
in  those  faces  of  the  waiters ;  the  sure  sign  that 
when  they  are  called,,  they  will  be  ready  to  go. 
If  they  had  been  indifferent  or  asleep,  the  Master 
might  have  passed  them  by  ^  if  they  had  not 
been  ready  also  in  the  sense  of  knowing  what  to 
do,  they  would  have  had  only  disgrace  and  no 
penny.  The  two  great  sources  of  failure,  when 
the  fault  lies  at  all  in  ourselves,  are  to  be  found 
first,  in  not  keeping  our  heart  and  life  awake 
to  the  call  of  Godf  and,  second,  in  not  knowing 
how  to  take  hold  when  we  are  called.  Every 
man  and  woman  who  has  achieved  a  real  success 
in  any  way  whatever,  from  the  forging  of  a 


EVERY  MAN   A   PENNY.  63 

horse-shoe  to  the  saving  of  a  soul,  succeeded 
through  being  ready  when  the  call  came.  You 
believe  that  a  lucky  hit,  as  we  cah1  it,  made 
them  what  they  are.  I  tell  you,  Nay ;  what- 
ever has  come  out  of  the  head,  and  heart,  and 
hand  of  any  man  or  woman,  first  went  into  it 
in  some  quick,  genuine,  human  fashion.  They 
builded  better  than  they  knew,  but  they  knew 
they  builded :  John  Bunyan  was  the  pilgrim 
who  made  the  Progress  ;  George  Fox  quaked 
and  trembled,  it  was  Wesley's  methods  that 
made  the  Methodist ;  and  before  the  slaves  could 
be  free,  Garrison  must  be  bound  with  them.  No 
man  or  woman  ever  won  the  penny  by  accident. 
If  you  will  be  sure  that  the  longing  you  feel  for 
something  better  is  not  to  end  in  disgrace  when 
your  call  comes,  you  must  now  be  gathering  the 
ideas  and  aptitudes  that  will  insure  the  place  ; 
keep  your  whole  life  open  and  ready ;  then  when 
the  Master  comes,  and  says,  "That  is  the  place 
you  are  to  fill,  and  the  work  you  are  to  do," 
you  shall  find  that  to  you,  as  fully  as  to  those 
that  were  called  before  you,  comes  the  full  re- 
ward. 
There  is  one  thing  more ;  it  has  lurked  in  some 


64  EVEBY  MAN  A  PENNY. 

of  your  hearts  and  minds  all  the  time  I  have 
been  talking.  You  say  you  can  tell  me  of  men 
and  women  who  never  could  do  what  they 
longed  to  do,  but  only  had  it  in  them  to  do  it, 
and  could  never  get  it  out ;  men  and  women  as 
noble  as  those  I  have  mentioned  for  illustration, 
and  as  good,  but  lonely  and  unknown  to  the  last, 
and  they  died  hearing  no  call  from  the  Master,  but 
only  waiting  until  the  sun  set  and  they  went  home. 
Yes,  and  I  myself  have  known  such  men  and  wo- 
men, whose  lot,  from  the  place  where  I  stood  look- 
ing at  it,  seemed  as  sad  as  a  tragedy  ;  and  yet  this 
was  the  wonder  of  it,  that  somehow  they  them- 
selves were  generally  among  the  most  cheerful 
and  happy  people  at  last  under  the  great  canopy 
of  heaven.  For  one  thing  they  generally  do  get 
a  poor  little  show  of  some  sort  before  they  get 
through,  and  it  does  them  more  good  than  we 
can  tell.  It  does  not  take  much  coin  to  come  to 
a  penny,  but  a  penny  to  them  has  a  wonderful 
worth ;  they  feel  somehow,  at  last,  as  a  rule,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  that,  taken  altogether,  their 
lines  have  fallen  in  pleasant  places.  And  then 
standing  there,  watching  and  waiting,  there  have 
come  to  them  a  patience  and  power  that  seldom 


EVERY   MAN   A    PENNY.  65 

come  to  the  prosperous  and  happy  —  to  those 
that  have  everything  they  want. 

I  think  the  most  heart-whole  man  I  ever 
knew,  was  a  man  who  had  waited  and  watched, 
breaking  stones  through  all  weathers  on  the 
cold  shoulder  of  a  Yorkshire  hill,  and  he  could 
hardly  see  the  stones  he  had  to  break  he  was 
so  sand  blind.  His  wife  was  dead  and  all  his 
children;  his  hut  was  open  to  the  sky,  and  to 
the  steel-cold  stars  in  winter:  but  when  once 
one  said,  to  comfort  him,  "  Brother,  you  will 
soon  be  in  heaven  !  "  he  cried  out  in  his  rap- 
ture, "  I  have  been  there  this  ten  years ! " 
And  so  when  at  last  the  angel  came  to  take  him, 
he  was  not  unclothed,  but  clothed  upon  ;  mortali- 
ty was  swallowed  up  of  life. 

I  treasure  a  small  drawing  by  Millais.  It  is 
the  figure  of  a  woman  bound  fast  to  a  pillar 
far  within  tide  mark.  The  sea  is  curling  its 
tides  about  her  feet ;  a  ship  is  passing  in  full 
sail,  but  not  heeding  her  or  her  doom ;  birds  of 
prey  are  hovering  about  her,  but  she  heeds 
not  the  birds,  or  the  ship,  or  the  sea ;  her  eyes 
look  right  on,  and  her  feet  stand  firm,  and  you 
see  that  she  is  looking  directly  into  heaven,  and 
5 


66  EVERY  MAN   A   PENNY. 

telling  her  soul  how  the  sufferings  of  this  present 
time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the 
glory  that  shall  be  revealed  ;  and  under  the  pic- 
ture is  this  legend,  copied  from  the  stone  set  up 
to  her  memory  in  an  old  Scottish  kirkyard :  — 

"  Murdered  for  owning  Christ  supreme, 
Head  of  His  Church,  and  no  more  crime.  • 
But  for  not  owning  prelacy, 
And  not  abjuring  presbytery, 
Within  the  sea,  tied  to  a  stake, 
She  suffered  for  Christ  Jesus'  sake." 

I  treasure  it,  because  when  I  look  at  it,  it  seems 
a  type  of  a  great  host  of  women  who  watch  and 
wait,  tied  fast  to  their  fate,  while  the  tide  creeps 
up  about  them,  but  who  rise  as  the  waves  rise, 
and  on  the  crest  of  the  last  and  loftiest  are  borne 
into  the  quiet  haven,  and  hear  the  "  Well-done  !  " 


IV. 

THE   TWO  HARVESTS. 

ROM.  vii.  4 :  "  Fruit  unto  God." 

IT  has  come  to  me,  now  that  the  last  fruits  of 
the  year  are  being  gathered,  to  say  something  to 
you  of  the  lesson  that  lies  within  our  harvest, 
touching  the  harvest  of  life.  And  I  want  to 
speak  of  it  in  the  light  of  the  suggestion  that 
rises  naturally  out  of  my  text,  and  try,  if  I  can, 
to  find  what  is  fruit  unto  God.  What  is  fruit  to 
us,  is  a  question  not  very  hard  to  answer  ;  but 
fruit  to  God,  I  propose  to  show,  is  unspeaka- 
bly more,  look  at  it  as  we  will,  than  what  is 
fruit  to  us. 

And  in  doing  this,  I  shall  speak  to  you,  — 

I.  Of  the  vastness   of  his  harvest   compared 
with  ours. 

II.  Of  its  variety,  and 

III.  Of  its  ripening. 

First,  then,  we  havo  to  notice  the  difference 

67 


68  THE   TWO   HARVESTS. 

every  harvest-time  brings  home  to  us  between 
our  conception  and  that  of  the  Divine  Providence, 
of  what  is  really  good  fruit  in  the  measure  of  it. 
It  is  at  once  quite  evident,  when  we  begin  to 
look  into  it,  that  the  gift  of  God  in  the  harvest 
he  ripens  is  so  great,  it  can  only  be  held  in  his 
own  measure.  We  see  it  is  not  merely  this  gra- ' 
nary  of  ours  that  is  full ;  there  is  another  granary 
besides  this,  in  which  a  harvest  is  stored  of  seed 
for  sowing,  and  bread  for  eating,  to  which  this 
of  ours  is  a  mere  handful,  and  all  this  is  as  good 
in  its  way,  as  the  fruit  and  corn  on  which  we  have 
come  to  set  such  store.  There  are  seeds  so  small 
that  the  human  eye  cannot  see  them,  and  fruits  of 
the  wilderness  so  manifold,  as  to  far  exceed,  as 
yet,  our  power  to  find  them  out :  they  are  scat- 
tered through  all  the  zones  of  the  world,  from 
the  Iceland  moss  in  the  Arctic  circle  to  the  palm- 
tree  under  the  line.  The  whole  world  outside 
our  little  storehouse  is  one  great  granary,  "  a 
house  not  made  with  hands,"  in  which  things  are 
laid  up  that  are  good,  in  one  way  or  another,  for 
all  the  families  in  the  many  mansions  of  the  Maker 
and  Provider,  from  whose  full  hand  we  are  all  fed. 
Our  good  fruit  in  this  light  is  one  thing,  his 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  69 

good  fruit  another ;  and  so,  as  the  heavens  are 
higher  than  the  earth,  his  thought  of  what  is 
good  must  be  higher  than  our  own. 

Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  thorns  and 
thistles  that  came  up  outside  Eden  to  curse  the 
land,  what  he  said  was  good,  when  he  made  the 
earth  bring  forth  grass,  and  the  herb  3Tielding 
seed,  and  the  fruit-trees  yielding  fruit  after  their 
kind,  is  good  still ;  there  has  been  no  debase- 
ment of  this  Divine  husbandry ;  no  empty  gra- 
nary of  God;  no  failure  of  the  field.  He  tills  for 
the  multitude  that  cry  to  him  for  bread.  I  look 
up,  at  the  end  of  the  harvest  that  he  has  gathered, 
and  the  wonder  and  joy  of  it  seem  to  me  un- 
speakable. He  crowns  the  year  with  his  good- 
ness to  every  living  thing. 

This  is  true  again,  when  we  turn  from  the  vast- 
ness  of  this  treasure  to  its  variety.  We  get 
some  sense  of  this  from  what  we  agree  to  call 
good  fruit.  We  see  how  the  corn  differs  from 
the  apple,  and  the  grape  from  the  chestnut ;  how 
the  plum  can  never  be  like  the  melon,  or  the 
walnut  as  the  blackberry ;  and  in  this  variety 
there  is  a  blessing  that  could  never  be  found,  if 
the  best  of  all  the  things  God  has  given  us  could 


70  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

have  been  selected  for  our  sole  use,  and  poured 
out  upon  us  from  his  hand  in  the  full  measure  of 
our  wishes. 

So  I  cannot  find  in  my  heart  to  condemn  Israel 
for  crying  out  against  the  manna,  good  as  it  seems 
to  have  been,  and  full  of  nourishment,  when  they 
found  that  was  all  they  had;  and  then  that  they 
should  look  back  longingly  to  Egypt,  by  and  by, 
and  hanker  after  the  cucumbers  and  melons,  the 
variety  of  the  good  fruit  they  had  left  in  the  old 
country ;  and  then  when  quails  came,  that  they 
should  devour  them  with  such  eagerness  as  to 
bring  on  a  plague. 

I  do  not  find  that  with  the  heavenly  manna 
there  was  any  alteration  in  the  human  appetite  : 
that  remained  as  it  always  had  been ;  it  remained, 
therefore,  to  torment  them ;  it  was  not  in  their 
human  nature  to  be  content  with  angels'  food,  so 
long  as  they  were  still  in  the  flesh.  And  I  have 
no  idea  of  what  was  grown  in  Eden  ;  but  I  know 
that  if  Eden  did  not  grow  such  a  variety  in  its 
harvests  as  this  that  now  blesses  all  civilized 
men,  it  was  not  so  good  a  place  to  live  in,  in  some 
respects,  as  this  city,  and  would  not  be  so  likely 
to  satisfy  the  whole  demand  of  our  life.  Let 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  71 

this  be  as  it  may,  the  variety  that  we  ourselves 
take  note  of,  is  as  divine  as  the  abundance.  Yet 
it  is  but  a  fragment' of  the  whole  variety  that  is 
harvested  in  the  garners  of  God.  We  are  con- 
stantly coming  into  possession  of  some  new  fruit 
or  seed  that  brings  a  new  blessing ;  but  beyond 
that,  other  races  have  their  blessings,  differing 
from  ours,  specially  adapted  to  their  sustenance 
and  joy.  And  then  there  is  a  vast  store  of  things 
that  ripen  every  harvest,  we  know  very  little 
about,  or  take  to  be  worthless,  but  in  their  own 
place  and  for  their  own  purpose  they  are  all  good 
fruits.  The  variety  in  the  harvest  that  God  reaps 
is  as  wonderful  as  the  vastness. 

So  it  is  again  when  we  turn  from  the  har- 
vest to  the  harvest-time.  We  naturally  think 
of  what  is  gathered  now,  and  laid  up  for  the 
bleak  days  that  are  coming.  But  the  truth  is, 
ever  since  the  snow-drop  came  up  through  the 
snow,  and  blessed  us  in  the  wild,  spring  weather, 
there  has  been  a  perpetual  ingathering  of  ripe 
things.  The  spring  blossoms  ripened  when  our 
eyes  had  been  gladdened,  and  our  hearts  had  fed 
on  their  beauty  and  sweetness,  and  when  their 
time  came  they  passed  away  ;  they  are  harvested 


72  THS  TWO   HARVESTS. 


in  the  granaries  of  life  ;  the  corruptible  has  put 
on  incorruption,  and  the  mortal,  immortality  ;  they 
are  not  in  our  memory  merely,  but  in  our  being. 

The  first  fruits  of  summer  came  :  it  was  or- 
dained of  Heaven  that  they  should  not  wait  for 
the  later  harvest  ;  they  must  ripen  in  June,  or 
not  at  all  ;  and  so  they  ripened  and  were  gath- 
ered, and  reckoned  in  the  harvest  of  the  year. 
There  were  other  fruits  that  came  to  their  perfec- 
tion in  the  strong  sun  of  August.  They  must  be 
gathered  when  they  were  ripe  :  they  could  not 
wait  for  the  early  frosts  ;  and  they  are  a  part 
of  the  harvest  too,  just  as  truly  as  the  grapes 
and  corn.  The  completeness  of  harvest,  then, 
is  in  the  great  span  of  it  ;  and  we  only  under- 
stand the  whole  truth  of  what  is  fruit  unto  God, 
when  we  understand  and  feel  how  good  it  is  for 
our  life  to  take  in  this  long  ripening,  together 
with  the  vastness  and  variety.  No  human  eye 
may  ever  see  myriads  of  blessings  we  must 
count  in  the  harvest  of  God,  and  yet  the  blue-bell, 
waving  in  the  wilderness,  shall  be  a  sky  of  azure 
fretted  with  gold  for  a  host  of  God's  creatures 
living  under  its  vast  dome  and  rejoicing  in  the 
completeness  of  its  blessing. 


THE   TWO   HARVESTS.  73 

This,  then,  is  the  truth  about  the  harvest  we 
are  completing.  We  have  one  measure  for  it : 
He  who  clothes  the  lilies  and  feeds  the  birds 
has  another.  We  gather  a  few  varieties ;  he 
bids  nature  and  his  angels  gather  all.  We 
think  of  this  as  the  harvest-time :  harvest  be- 
gan when  we  felt  the  breath  of  the  first  snow- 
drop, and  blessed  it  for  heralding  the  glory  of 
the  year ;  and  this  is  the  truth  that  fills  the  soul 
fullest  of  the  goodness  of  God.  The  more  com- 
pletely we  can  grasp  the  vastness,  the  variety, 
and  the  long  ripening  of  the  harvest,  the  more 
deeply  we  can  feel  the  presence  of  his  provi- 
dence and  grace. 

I  said  the  harvest  of  the  year  leads  us  on 
to  the  harvest  of  life  ;  the  vastness,  and  variety, 
and  difference  in  the  ripening  of  humanity,  and 
the  difference  between  our  estimate  of  it  and  the 
estimate  of  Heaven.  In  my  boyhood,  when  I 
listened  to  sermons,  and  through  some  years  of 
the  time  I  preached  them,  my  idea  of  the  harvest 
of  Humanity,  and  what  is  good  fruit  to  God,  was 
very  simple.  A  long,  narrow  strip  in  the  great 
wilderness  of  the  world  bore  good  fruit,  all  the 
rest  was  left  to  grow  things  whose  end  is  to 


74  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

rot,  or  to  be  burned.  That  was  the  way  I  was 
taught  to  believe  in  the  harvest  of  Humanity, — 
the  good  fruit  that  the  angels  gathered ;  and,  God 
forgive  me,  it  was  the  way  I  tried  to  teach 
others.  Adam,  Seth,  Enoch,  Methuselah,  Lamech, 
Noah,  Shem,  and  so  down  to  Abraham  and  Lot, 
with  a  patch  somewhere  on  one  side  for  Melehis- 
edec  ;  then  by  Joseph  and  Moses,  and  the 
Judges  to  David,  and  by  the  Prophets  down  to 
Christ ;  then  from  Christ,  the  narrow  belt  of  the 
True  Church  in  and  out  of  the  Church  of  Rome 
to  the  Reformation,  and  then  through  the  Puritans, 
down  to  this  age.  That  was  the  way  we  got  at 
the  harvest  of  Humanity ;  of  what  was  especially 
worth  garnering  of  all  that  grew  in  the  wilder- 
ness of  this  world,  for  about  six  thousand  years, 
as  near  as  we  could  tell  by  Bishop  Lowth's  chro- 
nology. 

It  is  by  no  means  the  exclusive  task  of  liberal 
Christianity  now  to  deny  this  wretched,  narrow 
dogma;  the  best  preachers  of  every  faith  in 
Christendom  are  proclaiming  the  truth,  our 
preachers  were  among  the  first  to  proclaim  from 
the  pulpit,  that  fruit  unto  God  is  grown  and 
gathered  in  every  nation,  and  kindred,  and  peo> 


THE  TWO   HABVESTS.  75 

pie,  and  tongue.  That  Assyria,  and  Egypt,  and 
Greece,  and  Rome,  and  Arabia,  and  Ethiopia,  and 
Scandinavia,  and  old  Gaul,  bore  their  harvests  as 
certainly  as  the  Hebrew  and  Christian  lands.  That 
what  the  church  and  the  preacher  insisted  on  as 
the  true  harvest  exclusively,  is  only  the  harvest 
of  a  few  varieties,  of  which  the  noblest  Christian 
fruit  is  no  doubt  the  best  of  ah1,  but  that  finds  its 
full  perfection  too  in  what  it  draws  from  all  the 
rest. 

This  is  the  truth  of  the  vastness,  and  variety, 
and  long  ripening  of  the  harvest  of  God  in  the 
whole  human  family.  The  field  is  the  world ;  no 
narrow  ribbon,  but  all  the  zones,  from  the  equa- 
tor to  the  poles.  It  is  the  grand  verity  that 
Paul  caught  out  of  heaven  as  he  stood  on  Mars 
Hill,  and  cried,  God  made  the  world,  and  att 
things  therein.  He  giveth  to  all  life,  and  breath, 
and  all  things.  He  hath  made  of  one  blood  all 
nations  of  men  to  dwell  on  all  the  face  of  the 
earth,  and  he  is  not  far  from  every  one  of  us  — 
the  children  of  Cain  as  well  as  of  Seth,  of  Ish- 
mael  as  well  as  Isaac,  by  the  Iliads  as  surely  as 
the  Psalms,  by  Athens  as  by  Jerusalem,  by  Pagan 
as  by  Christian  Rome,  and  in  Saracen  as  in  Chris- 


76  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

tian  Spain.  Everywhere  the  harvest  of  Humanity 
has  ripened  through  its  infinite  variety,  and  from 
the  spring-time  of  the  world  to  the  autumn. 

We  are  gradually  coming  to  the  conviction 
again,  that  this  is  the  truth  about  the  divine  in- 
gathering to-day  —  what  is  fruit  unto  God,  good 
men  in  all  churches  and  out  of  them  are  saying, 
cannot  be  this  small  handful  alone  in  the  Chris- 
tian garner.  That  is  no  doubt  the  best  wherever 
it  comes  to  its  full  perfection,  but  there  is  a 
divine  reaping  where  the  Christian  seed  was 
never  sown.  This  old  idea  of  an  exclusive  good- 
ness and  acceptance  among  Christians,  is  very 
much  like  what  we  see  sometimes  at  our  State 
fairs.  Men  come  there  who  have  set  their 
hearts  on  some  one  thing,  and  given  their  life 
to  its  development.  The  consequence  is,  very 
naturally,  that  they  cannot  weigh  the  worth  of 
quantities  of  good  fruits  and  seeds  which  differ 
from  theirs,  or  even  from  their  special  variety  of 
the  same  thing,  and  have  no  faculty  at  all  for 
estimating  the  good  that  is  not  good  enough  to 
be  shown,  but  that  lies  in  an  infinite  wealth  in 
the  world  outside  the  Fair  ground. 

We  have  far  too  much  of  this  in  our  churches 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  77 

still.  We  devote  ourselves  to  the  cultivation  of 
our  variety,  and  train  our  vision  away,  through 
our  devotion,  from  seeing,  as  we  should,  what 
worth  there  is  in  the  varieties  to  which  we 
have  given  no  attention.  If  we  allow  these 
to  be  good  again,  but  not  so  good  as  ours,  we 
think  little  of  the  great  harvest  of  good  out- 
side this  wider  circle.  But  there  it  is,  filling 
the  world  with  blessing.  And  so  it  is  with  the 
whole  harvest  of  Humanity  to-day.  There  is 
not  a  nation  or  people  anywhere  that  is  not, 
according  to  its  variety,  bringing  forth  fruit  to 
God  —  something  good  answering  to  its  condition, 
as  truly  as  the  harvests  answer  to  the  zones  of 
the  world.  It  is  not  our  sort ;  perhaps  we  cannot 
see  what  use  there  is  in  it ;  it  is  not  our  business. 
What  we  have  to  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  the 
corner  of  the  vineyard  the  Master  has  given  us, 
and  then  to  believe  that  he  will  see  to  the  rest, 
and  will  not  let  it  run  to  waste.  In  China  and 
India,  as  well  as  in  America,  the  Lord  of  the 
harvest  holds  his  own  ;  for  the  field  is  the 
world,  and  the  reapers  are  the  angels ;  and  in 
vastness,  in  variety,  and  in  the  span  of  the  har- 
vest, it  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever. 


78  THE  TWO   HAE VESTS. 

This  brings  me  to  say  again,  that  the  same 
thing  comes  home  to  us  about  the  life  that  is 
close  to  ours.  What  I  have  said  about  Christian 
ideas  of  the  multitudes  of  heathens  all  the  world 
over,  I  must  insist  on  in  connection  with  those  in 
our  own  land,  who  are  not  Christians,  and  never 
will  be.  I  can  no  more  believe  that  the  mere 
handful  of  our  countrymen  who  are  gathered  into 
churches  are  all  that  are  going  to  be  gathered 
into  heaven,  than  that  the  barns  and  cellars  of 
the  country  hold  all  the  good  that  has  ripened 
this  fall.  I  am  the  last  man,  I  trust,  to  say  a 
word  that  shall  seem  to  make  the  Christian  faith 
and  the  Christian  church  anything  else  but  what 
it  is.  What  I  will  say  is  this,  that  the  religious  life 
is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  Christian  faith  and 
churches.  There  is  a  very  great  deal  we  never 
think  of  calling  religion,  that  is  still  fruit  unto 
God,  and  garnered  by  Him  in  the  harvest.  The 
fruits  of  the  Spirit  are  love,  joy,  peace,  long 
suffering,  gentleness,  patience,  goodness.  I  affirm, 
that  if  these  fruits  are  found  in  any  form,  they 
are  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit,  whether  you  show 
your  patience  as  a  woman  nursing  a  fretful  child, 
or  as  a  man  attending  to  the  vexing  detail  of 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  79 

a  business,  or  as  a  physician  following  the  dark 
mazes  of  sickness,  or  as  a  mechanic  fitting  the 
joints  and  valves  of  a  locomotive ;  being  honest, 
and  true  besides,  you  bring  forth  fruit  unto 
God. 

I  went  into  a  picture-store  one  day,  and  met  a 
lady,  who  said,  "  Come  and  look  at  a  picture." 
I  suppose  you  have  most  of  you  seen  it. 
There  are  two  figures  in  it ;  one  is  a  soldier  — 
one  of  our  own  —  wounded  and  sick,  worn  and 
weary,  with  a  white  face,  and  great,  out-looking 
eyes,  that  seem  as  if  they  were  watching  for  the 
chariot  of  heaven.  The  other  is  a  Sister  of 
Mercy,  with  a  book  in  her  hand,  reading.  She 
has  one  of  those  sweet,  clear  faces  we  all  remem- 
ber, in  which  no  trace  of  human  passion  glasses 
itself  any  more,  but  only  the  quietness  and  as- 
surance of  a  heart  at  rest. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  my  friend  said. 
I  expressed  my  sense  of  its  beauty ;  but  then 
I  had  to  tell  her  how  sure  I  was  that  it  was  not 
the  Sister,  with  her  prayer-book,  that  stood  for 
the  pure,  religious  devotion  of  that  scene ;  the 
poor  fellow  there,  almost  dead,  was,  to  me,  the 
most  religious  of  the  two.  I  could  not  look  be- 


80  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

hind  him,  as  I  could  behind  the  woman,  through 
long  years  of  fasting,  and  prayer,  and  aspiration. 
That  might  be  there,  or  it  might  not ;  the  prob- 
abilities were  against  it ;  but  what  was  there  that 
I  could  see,  was  a  love  that  could  make  the  man 
leap  out  of  his  home  to  the  front ;  a  joy  that  he 
could  make  his  breast  a  barrier  for  the  mother- 
land ;  peace  in  duty  well  done  ;  long  suffering  in 
the  doing,  down  to  that  moment ;  and  gentleness, 
and  patience,  and  goodness,  ripening,  evidently, 
as  he  lay  there  with  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes, 
that  saw  then,  only  home  and  heaven. 

And  so  it  is  with  this  whole  harvest  of  life ;  it 
is  infinitely  vaster,  as  the  harvest  of  the  world  is, 
than  our  estimate  ;  and  God  is  here  to  see  to 
every  grain  of  it,  as  Nature  sees  to  every  grain 
that  lies  in  her  lap  from  April  to  October. 

"  God,  the  Creator,  does  not  sit  aloof, 
As  in  a  picture  painted  on  a  roof, 
Occasionally  looking  down  from  thence,  — 
He  is  all  presence  and  all  providence." 

So  it  is  again  with  the  truth  of  variety.  Men 
differ  in  their  ways  and  in  their  nature  as  widely 
as  the  chestnut  and  cherry,  or  the  walnut  and 
the  peach,  and  yet  they  may  all  be  good  men. 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  81 

Here,  again,  we  set  up  our  idea  of  what  is  good 
fruit  in  the  face  of  heaven,  and  then  find  it  hard 
to  make  out  that  there  is  much  good  in  the  world. 
We  want  men  and  women  to  be  good  according  to 
the  way  we  define  goodness,  and  cannot  believe  in 
them  if  they  cannot  conform  to  our  standard.  A 
man  may  be  as  good  at  the  heart  of  him  as  a  man 
can  be  ;  but  if  he  be  sharp  or  hard  on  the  surface, 
we  cannot  quite  believe  in  such  goodness  as  that ; 
we  never  think  that  such  a  man  is  a  chestnut  or 
a  walnut  in  the  harvest  of  the  year,  as  good  in  his 
own  way  as  any.  Others,  again,  are  all  sweetness 
until  you  get  at  their  heart,  and  then  you  find  a 
tang  of  bitterness  and  hardness  you  never  ex- 
pected. You  wonder  whether  they  can  be  really 
good  men.  You  might  as  well  wonder  whether 
there  can  be  a  good  plum,  or  peach,  or  cherry. 
Some,  again,  are  wrapped  up  in  husks,  that 
are  dry,  withered,  and  dead ;  but  down  within 
the  husk  is  the  grain,  and  that  is  good,  and  you 
know  it ;  but  you  sorrow  that  the  husk  should 
be  there,  and  never  think  it  has  to  be  there 
for  a  nature  like  that,  or  there  would  be  no  grain, 
and  that  by  and  by  all  this  will  be  stripped  away 
and  done  with. 
6 


82  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

The  variety  in  the  fruit  of  life  is  as  divine  as 
the  abundance.  Peter  had  a  forbidding  outside, 
with  a  heart  as  tender  as  ever  beat ;  and  John's 
heart,  when  you  come  close  to  him,  was  anything 
but  tender ;  but  they  were  both  saints  for  all  that. 
Erasmus  was,  perhaps,  the  most  fascinating  man  of 
his  day  ;  Luther,  to  look  at,  one  of  the  least.  The 
good  of  Erasmus  was  more  on  the  outside,  of 
Luther,  more  within.  They  are  both  to  be  counted 
among  the  noblest  children  of  God.  Goldsmith 
was  a  pulp  of  a  rare  sweetness  almost  down  at 
the  core;  Johnson  had  a  goodness  unspeakably  dif- 
ferent, but  quite  as  good,  in  one  of  the  knottiest 
and  hardest  shells  to  look  at  that  was  ever  seen. 
Stephen  Girard  was  a  by-word  for  what  was  hard 
and  keen ;  but  once  when  the  yellow  fever  raged 
in  Philadelphia  he  was  the  first  man  in  the  town 
in  his  fearless  devotion  and  sweet  self-sacrifice  for 
the  sick  and  dying.  We  have  one  idea  of  good- 
ness, Heaven  has  another. 

In  all  sorts  of  husks  and  shells,  hard,  sharp, 
withered,  and  dead,  God  sees  a  goodness  we 
are  always  missing,  and  counts  and  treasures  it 
in  the  granary  of  heaven.  We  think  of  him  too 
much  as  one  walking  through  the  world,  looking 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  83 

only  for  the  best,  and  rejecting,  with  aversion, 
what  is  not  the  best.  I  tell  you  when  he  goes 
forth  with  his  reapers  to  gather  his  harvest,  he 
looks  as  lovingly  now  as  once  he  looked  through 
the  eyes  of  Christ,  his  Son,  for  all  the  good  there 
is  everywhere.  There  may  be  only  a  single  grain 
in  October  where  he  put  in  a  grain  in  March : 
he  bids  his  angels  gather  that  as  carefully  as  if 
it  were  a  hundred  fold. 

Then  of  the  long  ripening.  The  harvest  we 
would  have,  if  we  had  our  way,  would  all  be 
gathered  in  October.  Our  idea  of  Humanity  is, 
that  it  should  come  to  its  end  like  corn  fully  ripe, 
or  the  apples  that  are  only  perfected  in  the  frost, 
and  we  almost  lay  it  up  as  a  grudge  against  Heav- 
en that  we  cannot  have  it  so.  But  ever  since  the 
world  was,  Humanity  has  had  its  long  ripening. 
Delicate  blossoms  have  bloomed  ill  the  spring 
that  could  never  live  to  summer.  Little  children, 
the  snowdrops  of  the  year:  young  men  and  maid- 
ens, the  early  summer  fruit,  strong  men  in  their 
prime,  perfected  in  August,  —  so  the  harvest  of 
Humanity  has  grown  and  been  gathered  from  first 
to  last.  It  is  hard  to  see,  through  our  tears,  that 
this  can  be  the  divine  way  with  us,  and  the  most 


84  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

blessed  way  Heaven  could  contrive  for  our  bless- 
ing. But  with  little  children  in  heaven,  that 
passed  away  like  the  snowdrops,  and  youth  that 
ripened  in  its  June,  and  true  friends  and  kinsfolk 
that  were  perfected  in  their  August,  and  left  me 
to  wait  for  the  early  or  the  latter  autumn,  or  the 
winter,  I  cling  to  the  conviction  that  the  long 
ripening  was  the  divinest.  I  would  have  kept 
them  all ;  my  heart  aches  for  them  with  an  in- 
tolerable longing  ;  sometimes  I  wonder  how  it  can 
be  that  God  will  be  justified  when  he  speaks  to 
me  of  his  perfect  providence  and  infinite  love  in 
taking  these  from  me.  He  will  not  argue.  He 
will  only  ask  what  I  think  my  life  would  have 
been  had  they  never  come  to  bless  me  in  their 
seasons,  and  then  to  be  taken  away.  It  will  be 
all  right  when  it  comes  to  that. 

This  finally  rounds  itself  with  a  word  of  ad- 
monition. First,  that  I  shall  not  be  content  with 
my  own  poor  limited  vision  of  the  harvest  of 
Humanity.  When  I  make  my  sense  of  the  full- 
ness, and  variety,  and  ripening  of  men  the 
standard  with  which  to  measure  the  divine  sense 
of  it,  it  is  as  if  I  made  my  sense  of  what  is 
gathered  here  in  October  tell  the  whole  story  of 


THE   TWO    HAEVESTS.  85 

the  year  all  over  the  world.  Good  fruit  to  God 
surpasses  all  conception  that  I  can  form  either  of 
its  measure  or  of  its  variety.  Second,  this  must 
not  for  one  instant  leave  me  careless  about  grow- 
ing to  be  my  best,  or  of  helping  others  to  grow.  It 
must  only  be  an  inspiration  and  incitement  to  me, 
as  I  feel  there  is  so  much  more  to  encourage 
me  than  there  would  be  if  I  believed  that  the 
most  of  what  can  be  grown  is  only  good  to  burn. 
It  is  good  to  garner  under  all  its  varieties.  I  shall 
not  despair  of  anything.  If  only  a  little  seed  of  good 
ripens,  that  little  seed  will  never  be  lost.  One 
of  the  worst  women  we  ever  had,  says  the  matron 
of  one  of  the  great  English  prisons,  was  caught 
one  day  weeping  over  a  daisy.  Well,  I  think 
God's  angels  saw  that  woman  weeping,  and  went 
and  told  it  in  heaven,  and  then  there  was  joy 
there,  for  they  knew  that  somehow,  somewhere, 
some  time,  that  "  wee  crimson  tipped  flower " 
would  bring  her,  and  be  brought  by  her,  through 
the  golden  gates. 

It  is  not  for  a  moment  my  idea,  last  of  all, 
that  because  the  great  Husbandman  will  cer- 
tainly make  the  best  of  the  multitudes  that  are 


86  THE  TWO   HARVESTS. 

like  the  wild  fruit  of  the  wilderness,  and  of 
those  that  are  like  the  smaller  and  more  ordinary 
growth  of  the  field  and  forest,  and  of  all  the  rest 
we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  leaving  out  of  the 
measure  of  good  fruit  to  God,  —  we  are  to  be 
satisfied  with  anything  short  of  the  uttermost 
goodness,  largeness,  and  ripeness  we  can  possi- 
bly attain  to.  The  worst  farmer  I  ever  knew, 
was  a  man  who  was  always  sure  that  his  land- 
lord would  not  trouble  him  about  either  rent  or 
crop,  because  his  family  had  been,  time  out  of 
mind,  in  the  sunshine  of  their  lord's  favor.  It 
is  always  the  danger  of  our  confidence  in  God's 
providence,  that  we  shall  come  to  think  it  will  be 
satisfied  with  our  improvidence.  Only  as  we 
make  the  best  of  what  we  have,  and  so  become 
the  best  we  can  be,  shall  we  win  the  great  "  well- 
done  ; "  and  no  man  or  woman  ought  ever  to  be 
satisfied  with  anything  less  than  to  try  for  it. 
Patience,  perseverance,  good  endeavor  through 
storm  and  shine,  the  uplifted  heart,  the  pure  life, 
the  large  sympathy,  the  faith  that  was  in  Christ, 
and  the  truth,  and  the  love,  —  these  will  bring 
into  my  own  life  an  ever-ripening  perfection,  and 


THE  TWO   HARVESTS.  87 

save  me  from  the  poor  perversity  of  thinking 
that  God  has  not  an  infinite  store  of  fruit  as 
good  as  mine  or  better. 

"  So  will  I  gather  strength  and  hope  anew, 

For  I  do  know  God's  patient  love  perceives, 
Not  what  we  did,  but  what  we  tried  to  do ; 
And  though  the  ripened  ears  be  sadly  few, 
He  will  accept  our  sheaves." 


V. 

HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

GEN.  v.  22 :  "  Enoch  walked  with  God." 

THE  first  part  of  my  text  is  the  most  striking 
characterization  of  a  good  man's  life  to  be  found 
in  our  Bible  ;  the  last,  the  most  touching  record 
of  a  good  man's  end.  It  is  said  of  other  men,  that 
they  followed  after  God,  or  walked  in  the  way 
of  God ;  that  this  one  died  full  of  years,  and  that 
one  satisfied;  but  it  is  reserved  for  this  man 
alone  to  win  and  hold  this  great  place  —  to  walk 
with  God  as  with  a  dear  friend,  voice  answering 
to  voice,  hand  touching  hand,  face  reflecting  face, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  life  ;  then,  when 
the  end  comes,  Death  is  shorn  of  his  terrors,  cast- 
ing no  more  shadow  on  Enoch's  spirit  than  if  it 
were  the  spirit  of  a  yearling  child;  the  life  that 
now  is  opening  into  that  which  is  to  come,  as  a 
clear  twilight  opens  into  day. 

And  it  is  not  needful  to  tell  you  how  blessed 

88 


HOW   ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD.  89 

such  a  life  and  death  must  be.  1  know  you  will 
agree  with  me,  that  no  life  can  be  more  beauti- 
ful, no  end  more  desirable.  The  most  primitive 
characterization  of  a  good  man's  life,  this  is  still 
as  much  as  can  be  said  of  any  man,  more  than 
any  man  I  have  ever  known  would  like  to  say  of 
his  own  life,  or  predict  of  his  death.  And  this 
is  notable,  because  in  this  light  the  text  is  as 
good  for  what  it  teaches  in  doctrine,  as  for  what 
it  testifies  to  life.  Because,  if  I  inquire  to-day 
after  the  essential  conditions  of  a  perfect  walk 
with  God,  —  what  I  must  do  to  attain  eternal  life, 
—  I  am  directed,  in  our  common  Christian  teach- 
ing, to  do  at  least  five  things :  first,  to  study  care- 
fully my  Bible  ;  second,  to  come  to  God  through 
his  Son,  Christ  Jesus ;  third,  to  join  the  Christian 
church ;  fourth,  to  keep  the  Sabbath ;  and  fifth, 
to  observe  the  ordinances,  such  as  the  Lord's 
Supper.  These  are  counted  essential  conditions 
to  a  perfect  walk  with  God  in  our  time.  If  I  am 
faithful  to  four  of  them,  I  am  not  considered  quite 
so  good  as  if  I  keep  the  five.  If  I  say  church  and 
sacrament  are  not  essential,  I  am  considered  still 
more  out  of  the  true  path.  But  if  I  then  go  on 
to  say  the  Sabbath  is  not  essential,  —  that  a  man 


90  HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

may  be  saved  in  other  ways  than  by  faith  in  the 
personal  and  risen  Christ,  and  that  the  Bible  must 
be  servant  to  the  soul,  not  the  soul  to  the  Bible, 
—  then  Christian  men  tell  me  I  cannot  walk  with 
God  at  all,  and  that  my  end  will  be  a  leap  in  the 
dark  after  a  life  in  the  dark,  with  dark  faces  all 
about  me. 

But  I  brush  the  dust  away  from  this  most  hon- 
orable name,  and  ask  what  Enoch  had  of  all  this 
that  is  made  so  essential  to  me ;  and  I  find  that 
he  had  no  Bible,  no  knowledge  of  this  personal 
Christ,  no  church,  no  Sabbath,  and  no  sacraments; 
which  brings  me,  by  a  very  short  and  simple  way, 
to  this  great  truth ;  that  all  these  things,  —  very 
good,  never  to  be  undervalued  by  any  sound- 
hearted  man,  —  are  not,  after  ah1,  essential  to  the 
perfect  life,  or  else  Enoch  had  not  been  able  to 
attain  to  this  perfection  before  they  were  heard 
of;  and  that  under  these  outward  and  visible 
signs  there  must  be,  therefore,  some  inward  and 
spiritual  grace,  possessing  which  at  any  time,  in 
any  land,  a  man  possesses  all  things  —  can  walk 
with  God  as  Enoch  did,  and  find  at  the  last  that 
mortality  is  swallowed  up  in  life. 

What  crumb  of  proof  is  needed  to  show  that 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH   GOD.  91 

Enoch  was  so  destitute,  can,  of  course,  only  be 
mentioned  in  the  briefest  way.  That  he  had  no 
Bible  is  clear,  from  the  fact  that  if  Moses  wrote 
the  first  five  books  of  it,  Enoch  himself  had  then 
been  translated  some  two  thousand  years. 

"After  the  most  careful  study  of  this  ques- 
tion, we  cannot  infer  that  more  than  the  simple 
weekly  division  of  time  was  known  before  Mo- 
ses," says  the  writer  of  the  article  "Sabbath," 
in  Smith's  great  "New  Bible  Dictionary." 

The  claim  that  the  obscure  oracle,  — that  the 
seed  of  the  woman  should  bruise  the  serpent's 
head,  — must  have  been  a  revelation  of  the  Re- 
deemer, it  is  entirely  impossible  to  believe.  That 
Enoch  could  have  belonged  to  a  church,  except 
as  the  church  belonged  to  Enoch,  when, 

"  Kneeling  down  to  heaven's  eternal  King, 
The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays," 

it  is  equally  impossible  to  infer ;  while  the  time 
was  yet  very  far  distant  when  men  should  build 
up  a  stupendous  ecclesiastical  pretension,  from 
the  longing  of  the  most  loving  heart  that  ever 
beat  on  this  earth,  to  be  remembered  by  friend 
and  follower,  even  in  the  simple  every-day  usage 


92  HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

of  eating  bread  and  drinking  wine,  to  be  blended 
as  intimately  with  the  spirit  as  these  elements 
were  with  the  materialism  of  their  life.  And  I 
feel  ready  to  apologize  for  offering  even  this  brief 
hint  of  the  proof,  that  not  one  of  those  things 
now  considered  so  essential  had  then  been  heard 
of,  until  I  remember  how  hard  it  was  for  me  to  re- 
alize once  what  is  now  so  simple  and  self-evident; 
and  how  easy  it  is  to  slide  into  a  semi-sense,  that 
what  is  now  made  of  such  ponderous  importance, 
was  always  so ;  and  that  we  are  doing  some  new 
thing  when  we  establish  a  church  like  this,  in 
which  we  declare  much  that  others  deem  essen- 
tial and  supreme,  to  be  but  symbolic  and  subor- 
dinate, while,  indeed,  we  are  but  backing  up  to 
the  most  absolute  conservatism ;  bringing  old 
things  into  the  new  time,  as  if  we  should  sow, 
and  reap  from  the  Illinois  prairie,  wheat  grains 
buried  for  uncounted  centuries  in  some  rock- 
tomb  by  the  field. 

I  propose  to  discuss  briefly  this  destitution  of 
Enoch  then  ;  this  poverty,  by  which  he  came  so 
directly  into  the  possession  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven;  to  touch  here  and  there  these  essen- 
tials of  our  times,  and  see  how  the  man  might 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD.      93 

have  been  richer  or  pooier  for  their  presence  in 
his  life,  and  so,  by  consequence,  see  what  they 
can  be,  and  what  they  cannot  be,  to  us. 

First  of  all,  Enoch  had  no  Bible  ;  and  yet,  sad 
as  it  seems  to  be  without  a  Bible,  it  would 
depend  very  greatly  on  the  man  whether  this 
destitution  would  be  a  blight  or  a  blessing.  I 
love  the  Bible  supremely.  In  all  the  world  I 
have  found  no  book  to  set  beside  it.  Other  books 
I  love  well.  Milton,  Taylor,  Carlyle,  Tennyson, 
Emerson,  Spencer,  and  many  a  noble  name  be- 
side in  this  great  brotherhood  are  so  dear  to  me, 
that  there  are  few  sacrifices  I  could  not  gladly 
make  rather  than  lose  their  companionship.  But 
when  I  am  in  any  great  strait  —  when  I  want 
to  find  words  other  than  my  own  to  rebuke  some 
crying  sin  or  to  stay  some  desperate  sinner,  to 
whisper  to  the  soul  at  the  parting  of  the  worlds, 
or  to  read,  as  I  sit  with  them  that  weep  beside 
their  dust,  words  that  I  know  will  go  to  the 
right  place  as  surely  as  corn  dropped  into  good 
soil  on  a  gleaming  May  day,  —  then  I  put  aside 
all  books  but  one  —  the  book  out  of  which  my 
mother  read  to  me,  and  over  which  she  sang 
to  me,  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember ;  and 


94       HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

when  I  take  this  book,  it  is  like  those  springs 
that  never  give  out  in  the  dryest  weather, 
and  never  freeze  in  the  hardest,  because  they 
reach  so  directly  into  the  great,  warm  fountains 
hidden  under  the  surface.  It  never  fails. 

But  have  we  not  all  noticed  the  curious  fact, 
that  men  go  to  the  Bible  for  what  they  want  to 
find,  rather  than  what  they  ought  to  find  ?  that 
those  who  profess  the  most  absolute  submission 
to  its  authority,  offer  generally  the  finest  possible 
illustration  of  the  supremacy  of  the  soul  over 
the  Bible,  in  the  way  they  contrive  to  make  it 
serve  their  turn?  and  that  it  is  by  no  means 
impossible  to  find  duplicates  of  the  good  Scotch- 
woman's minister,  of  whom  she  said,  "  If  there 
is  a  cross  text  in  the  Bible,  he  is  sure  to  find  it, 
and  take  it  for  a  sermon." 

The  truth  is,  the  Bible  is  like  a  great  pasture, 
into  which  you  turn  all  manner  of  feeders.  The 
horse  takes  what  he  wants,  so  does  the  cow ; 
the  sheep  is  true  to  its  instinct,  so  is  the  goat ; 
and  then,  last  of  all,  the  ass  rolls  the  thistle,  like 
a  sweet  morsel,  under  his  tongue.  So,  when  a 
man  with  a  large,  sweet  nature,  comes  to  the 
Bible,  he  crops,  by  a  sure  instinct,  all  the  large, 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD.  95 

sweet  passages.  The  hopeful  man  finds  the  hope- 
ful things ;  the  sad  man  the  sorrowful  things ;  the 
hard  man,  the  hard  things ;  and  every  man  the 
things  that  satisfy  his  craving,  though  they  may 
in  no  way  make  for  his  peace.  If,  then,  Enoch 
was  a  right-hearted  man,  the  Bible  would  have 
been  a  wonderful  blessing  to  his  life.  It  would 
have  whispered  consolation  in  his  trouble ;  it 
would  have  rebuked  him  with  a  sad  sternness  for 
his  sin ;  it  would  have  refreshed  him  many  a 
time  in  his  weariness  ;  it  would  have  helped  him 
to  be  a  man.  But  if  he  had  been  hard,  narrow, 
bitter,  and  bigoted,  it  might  have  confirmed  him 
in  all  that  is  most  ugly  and  unlovable  in  a  man 
otherwise  intending  to  do  right,  and  been  com- 
pelled by  him,  as  it  has  been  by  so  many,  into 
antagonism  to  the  purest  and  best  things.  Make 
the  Bible  minister  to  such  a  spirit  as  this; 
find  in  it  merely  hard,  bitter  things,  to  confirm  a 
hard  bitter  tone  towards  all  but  those  that  hap- 
pen to  belong  to  your  own  particular  Bethel ; 
find  nothing  to  make  you  tender  and  kind  to  the 
good  men  who  may  happen  to  be  more  radical  or 
conservative  than  yourselves  in  their  interpreta- 
tion of  the  essentials  of  the  truth  and  life,  then 


96  HOW  ENOCH   WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

you   are    infinitely    poorer    with   a   Bible    than 
Enoch  was  without  one. 

Because  we  cannot  afford  to  forget,  that  this 
man,  walking  with  God,  was  by  no  means  so 
destitute  as  he  seems ;  but  being  a  man  whose 
soul  was  open  to  the  heavens,  out  of  which 
whatever  is  best  in  our  Bible  has  come,  he  had  in 
some  way  a  Bible  after  all,  —  an  Old  and  New 
Testament  that  was  never  permitted  to  grow 
dusty,  that  was  not  brought  merely  for  good 
manners  where  the  minister  happened  to  be  stay- 
ing over  night,  but  a  Bible  fresh  and  perennial, 
beyond  what  most  of  us  that  set  such  store  by 
our  Bible  can  imagine.  It  is  surely  no  light 
matter  in  the  discussion  of  this  question,  to 
remember  that  this  perfect  life  was  ah1  done 
when  the  world  was  young ;  that  this  man  lived 
while  men  yet  believed  angels  descended  with 
sweet  silence  on  the  mountains  ;  when  the  things 
which  were  afterwards  put  into  the  book  of  Job 
and  the  older  Psalms  were  glistening  in  the  dew 
of  the  sun  newly  risen  on  the  race ;  when  the 
pure  wonder  and  trust  of  childhood  had  not  gone 
out  of  men ;  when,  believing  that  the  morning 
stars  sang  together,  ah1  the  sons  of  God  shouted 
for  joy. 


HOW   ENOCH    WALKED   WITH   GOD.  97 

What  Enoch  had  then,  came  to  him  directly. 
If.  in  any  rude  runic  or  hieroglyphic  way,  he  had 
possession  of  the  story  of  the  struggles  of  his 
race  to  work  out  their  own  salvation,  he  read  his 
Cotton  Mather  and  Winthrop,  his  Bancroft  and 
Hildreth,  and  Frank  Moore,  in  a  near,  sacred, 
very  present  sense  of  the  presence  of  God  in 
the  snuggle,  that  we  do  not  now  understand,  and 
that  we  never  can  understand,  until  we  dare 
believe  that,  when  we  want  to  read  in  our  church 
or  family  some  great  lesson  from  history,  these 
annals  of  our  own  are  so  significant  that  we  can 
take  a  chapter  from  any  one  of  them,  and  read 
it  with  a  reverence  as  deep  and  all-pervading 
as  that  we  feel  when  we  read  in  the  books  of 
Moses,  or  in  the  chronicles  of  the  judges  and 
kings. 

When  Enoch  lived,  if  his  melons  were  large, 
and  sweet,  and  plentiful,  he  thanked  God  for 
good  melons.  We  say,  I  was  very  particular 
about  seed  and  soil.  If  his  trees  nourished  ex- 
ceedingly, they  hinted  some  blessed  thing  about 
God's  good  providence  to  a  tree.  I  remember 
that  I  sent  for  the  plants  all  the  way  to  Rochester. 
When  Enoch  lived,  and  flowers  carpeted  dale  and 
7 


98  HOW   ENOCH  WALKED   WITH  GOD. 

upland  on  the  Euphrates,  he  thought  as  the  poet 
sang,  how 

"Not  worlds  on  worlds  in  phalanx  deep. 

Need  we  to  prore  that  God  is  here ; 
The  daisy,  fresh  from  Nature's  sleep, 

Tells  of  his  hand  in  lines  as  clear. 
For  who  but  he  who  arched  the  skies, 

And  poured  the  day-spring's  living  flood, 
Wonders  alike  in  all  he  tries, 

Could-  raise  the  daisy's  purple  bud, 
Mould  its  green  cup,  its  wiry  stem, 

Its  fringed  border  nicely  spin, 
And  cut  the  gold  embossed  gem, 

That,  set  in  silver  ^  gleams  within, 
And  fling  it  unrestrained  and  free 

O'er  hill,  and  dale,  and  desert  sod, 
That  man,  where'er  he  walks,  may  see 

In  all  his  footsteps  there's  a  God." 

Our  children  come  to  us  with  flowers,  but  they 
treat  us  to  scientific  dissections  of  them,  and 
laugh  at  the  dear  old  names  we  give  them.  We 
are  very  proud,  of  course,  as  becomes  the  fathers 
of  little  persons  so  learned,  and  say  to  ourselves, 
"  This  is  very  wonderful !  "  But  then,  we  cannot 
but  wonder  whether  they  do  see  quite  so  much 
in  the  wild  rose  or  the  bluebell  as  I  did  when  I 
strayed  to  seek  them  by  bank  and  hedge-row, 
before  1  had  heard  of  such  things  as  Latin  and 
botany,  or  dreamed  that  somewhere  in  the  pre- 


HOW   ENOCH  WALKED   WITH  GOD.  99 

existed  heavens  were  voices  training  to  call  me 
father.  Enoch  lived  when  what  sense  of  sin  and 
retribution  lay  in  the  soul  touched  it  to  the  very 
quick ;  when  dyspepsia  and  gout  were  not  to  be 
explained  away  by  a  pleasant  doctor,  but  meant 
over-feeding  and  under-work ;  when  the  words  we 
sing  out  of  David's  psalms,  how  "  the  heavens 
declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament 
showeth  his  handiwork,"  were  singing  themselves 
in  Enoch's  heart ;  when  heaven  and  earth,  and 
life,  and  the  life  to  come,  l#y  near  and  next  to 
the  soul  of  the  man  that  walked  with  God  ;  when 
every  babe  born  into  his  house  was  a  chapter  in  a 
New  Testament,  teaching  some  new  wonder  of 
the  truth  and  life;  and  what  it  is  to  be  a  child 
of  God,  was  made  all  clear  to  him  in  his  own 
children. 

Now,  this  Bible  was  open  to  Enoch,  as  it  is 
open  to  every  man  who  will  look  into  it.  And 
when  we  think  of  this,  we  cannot  wonder  that  he 
should  do  so  well  before  teachers  of  the  truth 
had  begun  to  confound  the  light  which  lighteth 
every  man  that  cometh  into  the  world,  with  one 
of  its  most  Blessed  results ;  to  make  this  mighty 
aid  to  the  perfect  life  and  up-springing  end,  one  of 


100  HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH   GOD. 

its  most  essential  conditions  ;  "  to  soil  the  book  in 
struggles  for  the  binding ;  "  to  practically  deny 
that  in  all  ages,  they  that  fear  God  and  work 
righteousness  are  accepted  of  him,  or  that  the 
invisible  things  of  him  from  the  creation  of  the 
world  are  clearly  seen,  being  set  forth  by  the 
things  that  are  made.  A  voice  that  always  com- 
mands attention,  has  hinted  that  the  highest  faith 
of  this  soul  is  to  centre  finally  in  the  Bible  or 
in  Mathematics.  It  is  possible ;  and  yet  we  may 
remember  to-night  the  high  faith  of  this  soul, 
while  Bible  and  probably  Mathematics  too  were 
yet  invisible,  and  then  be  as  sure  as  we  are 
sure  God  is  very  God  and  onr  Father,  that  if 
ever  Mathematics  shall  come  to  assume  so  great 
a  place  as  to  divide  the  kingdom  with  this  great 
book,  and  win  souls  to  trust  in  them  as  the  very 
truth,  then  will  they  somehow  become  the  very 
life  too,  and  the  properties  and  proportions  of 
number  be  so  filled  with  a  divine  beauty,  so 
clothed  in  robes  of  light,  that  men  will  grow 
brave  and  strong,  and  weep  and  rejoice  as  they 
study  them ;  will  be  martyrs  and  confessors  for 
their  truth  and  life,  as  surely  as  ever  men  were 
martyrs  and  confessors  for  the  truth*  and  life  in 
the  Prophecies  and  Gospels. 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD.      101 

The  time  which  I  have  given  to  a  special  con- 
sideration of  this  one  thing,  will  release  me  from 
the  discussion  of  those  other  so-called  essentials 
with  any  like  elaboration.  I  cannot  well  tell  yon 
what  a  blessed  light  has  come  into  my  life  from 
the  face  of  Jesus  Christ  since  the  old  times,  when, 
one  by  one,  the  dark  shadows  that  had  always 
fallen  between  his  life  and  mine  began  to  lift. 
And  I  will  give  place  to  no  man  again  in  true 
love  to  a  true  church;  to  some  common  home 
where  men  and  women  meet  who  are  drawn  to- 
gether by  a  mutual  love ;  where  they  can  no 
more  help  meeting  than  our  children  can  help 
rushing  home  from  school;  a  sort  of  divine 
brotherhood,  in  which  every  man  feels  some 
sorrow  when  trouble  falls  to  any,  and  a  com- 
mon interest  in  each  great  joy  ;  a  church  so 
true,  that  if  you  dishonor  one,  you  dishonor  every 
one,  and  that  any  man  may  be  sure  his  good  name 
is  safe  while  one  is  within  ear-shot  who  worships 
in  that  place  ;  a  church  where  great  reservoirs 
of  power  are  filled  full  and  held  ready  to  be 
poured  out  whenever  the  true  occasion  comes 
to  open  the  flood-gates  for  God  or  man,  and  yet 
where  there  is  such  a  continual  overflow,  that 


102  HOW   ENOCH  WALKED   WITH  GOD. 

the  store  is  kept  sweet  by  its  own  generous  flow- 
ing ;  a  church  where  whatsoever  things  are  true 
are  welcome,  and  where  there  is  such  a  constant 
deepening  of  the  spiritual  life  manifested  in  the 
devout  utterances  of  all  in  prayers  and  praises, 
that  every  man  is  lifted  nearer  heaven  at  his 
need  than  he  could  hope  to  be  by  solitary 
meditation. 

And  the  Sabbath  I  love.  It  may  be  a  super- 
stition; but  the  more  I  study  the  question  of 
seven-sameness,  the  more  I  am  drawn  to  the  Sab- 
bath as  a  prime  necessity  of  life,  apart  from  its 
special  uses  for  worship,  and  ready  to  admit  that, 
if  it  did  not  take  so  great  a  place  in  the  master 
book  of  the  master  races  on  the  globe,  we  should 
still  grope  our  way  somehow  to  the  conclusion  of 
a  great  physiologist,  that  "  while  the  night's  rest 
seems  to  equalize  the  circulation,  still  it  does  not 
restore  the  perfect  balance  to  the  life."  Hence 
it  will  come  to  pass,  that  while  the  man  who 
neglects  to  take  a  seventh  day,  at  least,  for  rest, 
may  be  borne  along  by  the  vigor  of  his  mind 
to  continual  exertion,  yet  in  the  long  run  he  will 
break  down  sooner  and  more  suddenly  than  the 
man  who  is  determined  to  put  aside  at  least  one 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD.      103 

seventh  of  his  working  life  for  rest  and  recrea- 
tion. But  not  for  this  alone  will  the  Christian 
minister  stand  by  the  Sabbath,  but  because  he 
knows  that  the  needs  of  the  soul  are  as  impera- 
tive as  those  of  the  body,  the  hunger  of  the 
inner  life  as  sore  as  that  of  the  outer,  and  that 
no  man  can  live  by  bread  alone. 

There  is  no  sight  in  this  world  so  touching  to 
me,  as  the  sight  of  this  church  on  a  Sunday.  I 
look  down  the  aisles,  and  there  see  the  lawyer, 
who  has  been  wrangling  in  the  courts ;  the  mer- 
chant, who  has  been  watching  the  fluctuations  of 
the  market ;  the  mechanic,  every  day  driven  by 
clanging  hammer  and  grinding  wheel ;  the  maid- 
en, weary  with  the  incessant  task-work  of  the 
school ;  and  the  mother,  nearly  worn  out  by  the 
heavy  cares  of  the  home.  But  here  they  all 
gather ;  and  as  their  faces  turn  to  me,  I  see  no 
longer  the  busy  man  and  woman,  but  the  soul 
returning  to  its  rest ;  coming  to  God,  if  haply  it 
may  feel  after  him,  and  find  him ;  endeavoring  to 
shift  the  burden,  so  that  the  pinch  will  not  be 
quite  so  much  on  the  one  place ;  striving  to  find 
how  they  that  wait-upon  the  Lord  ehall  renew  their 
strength;  and,  last  of  all,  while  I  believe  that 


104  HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  has  managed 
to  drift  to  the  farthest  possible  point  from  its 
primitive  intention ;  to  become  so  thin  and  shad- 
owy in  its  material  elements,  that  I  almost  wish 
these  could  be  dispensed  with,  as  they  are  so 
nearly ;  there  is  that  at  the  heart  of  it,  when  I 
meet  with  the  few  who  feel  that  it  is  to  them  a 
great  consolation,  that  makes  me  almost  forget  I 
am  eating  a  crumb  of  bread  and  sipping  a  drop 
of  wine,  I  can  enter  so  nearly  with  them  into 
that  dear  Presence,  and  so  realize  how  wonderful 
was  this  sacrifice,  made  in  his  perfect  prime,  by 
one  who  shrank  from  death  in  that  way,  as  pos- 
sibly humanity  never  shrank  before,  yet  would 
make  no  hair's  breadth  of  compromise  to  save 
his  life,  though  when  the  horror  of  great  dark- 
ness fell,  he  felt  that  even  God  had  forsaken  him. 
But  I  should  fall  back  on  Enoch,  and  insist 
on  using  his  Bible,  and  no  other,  if  I  were  com- 
pelled to  choose  between  that  and  the  thorns 
and  thistles  so  many  well-meaning  men  insist  on 
my  accepting,  whether  I  will  or  not,  and  assimi- 
lating into  my  nature  as  the  bread  of  life ;  as  I 
would  shut  the  book,  and  never  open  it  again, 
rather  thin  be  compelled  to  acquiesce  in  the  one 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD.      105 

hideous  monstrosity  of  an  eternal  hell  fire  —  so, 
if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  be  beaten  out  of  my 
belief  in  this  dear  Christ,  as  he  now  looks  at  me 
out  of  heaven ;  to  see  in  him  mainly  a  sacrifice 
to  slake  the  wrath  of  an  angry  God ;  or  a  being 
holding  a  relation  to  God  that  contradicts  every 
possibility  of  nature  or  numbers ;  or  even  were  I 
required  to  bind  myself  over  to  believe  what  con- 
tradicted the  best  insight  of  my  own  soul  concern- 
ing his  life,  death,  and  resurrection,  whether  this 
chorded  most  nearly  with  this  or  that  side  of  lib- 
eral Christianity ;  or  if  I  were  compelled  to  join  a 
church  in  which  men  and  women  who  compose  it 
are  as  much  isolated  from  a  common  Christian  fel- 
lowship as  if  the  cord  that  should  bind  them  was 
electricity,  and  they  were  sitting  in  pews  of 
glass,  where  not  my  own  honest,  natural  bent 
was  respected,  and  not  the  discharge  of  daily 
duties,  in  a  simple,  loving  spirit,  was  counted  re- 
ligion, but  1  was  compelled  to  do  things  against 
my  nature,  not  daring  to  refuse,  in  peril  of  my 
soul ;  or  if  I  were  compelled  to  keep  a  Sabbath 
again,  so  that  I  durst  not  say  to  any  man 
who  has  been  so  chained  to  his  desk  all  the 
week  that  he  has  never  taken  a  full  breath, 


106  BOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

"My  friend,  I  am  set  to  watch  for  your  soul; 
and  as  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  of  that  Christ, 
who  said  the  first  consideration  is  not  the 
Sabbath,  but  the  man,  I  tell  you  that  this  is 
not  the  true  worship  for  you  to  come  here, 
cramping  yourself  every  Sunday  over  your  Bible 
and  hymn-book;  the  true  worship,  the  Sabbath- 
keeping  most  sacred,  will  be  to  intersperse  with 
your  Sundays  at  church,  Sundays  when  you  will 
start  out  on  a  long-stretching  walk  into  the  coun- 
try, or  go  lie  down,  through  a  summer  day,  on 
your  back  at  the  root  of  a  tree,  and  look  up  into 
the  great,  quiet  heavens;  when  you  will  do 
something  that  will  expand  your  natural  life,  and  • 
sweeten  and  reform  it;  that  will  take  the  snarl 
out  of  your  brain,  instead  of  letting  me  put  an- 
other into  it  through  my  sermon :  "  if  I  were 
compelled  again  to  accept  the  sacrament  as  a 
sort  of  occult  charm,  instead  of  a  sacred  remem- 
brance ;  to  invest  it  with  frightful  possibilities  of 
damnation  if  I  do  not  succeed,  before  I  take  it, 
of  divesting  myself  of  everything  that  is  most 
bright,  cheerful,  and  human — then,  rather  than  be 
bound  so  to  Bible,  Intercessor,  Church,  Sabbath, 
or  Sacrament,  I  would  go  back  and  range  with 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED   WITH  GOD.  107 

good  old  Enoch,  free,  self-contained,  subject  to 
God  alone,  as  He  speaks  to  me  through  nature 
and  the  soul.  Then,  if  any  man  troubled  me 
with  impertinences  about  the  soundness  of  my 
faith,  and  its  power  tg  bear  me  through  life  and 
death  —  if  no  deeper  argument  were  worth  nty 
while,  I  would  refer  him  to  this  primitive  instance 
out  of  his  own  prime  authority,  how  one,  doing 
by  one  necessity  what  I  am  doing  by  another, 
won  this  supreme  glory  and  blessing,  —  that  he 
walked  with  God,  and  was  translated,  so  that  he 
should  not  see  death. 

All  this  I  say,  finally,  not  because  I  would 
take  one  atom  of  power,  and  riches,  and  wisdom, 
and  strength,  and  honor,  and  glory,  and  blessing 
from  these  aids  to  religion,  but  because  I  would 
make  them  everything  they  can  be,  as  minister- 
ing angels  to  the  soul,  and  yet  be  sure  that  the 
power  by  which  a  man  shall  walk  with  God  pre- 
ceded them,  informs  them,  surpasses  them,  and 
is  so  full  and  free  that  it  overflows  all  churches, 
books  and  created  beings,  as  if  you  should  set  as 
many  vessels  in  a  fountain  of  living  water.  It  is 
like  the  sun  that  fills  a  cup  of  every  flower  in 
your  gardens,  and  yet  fills  just  as  full  every  wild 


108  HOW   ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

flower  on  the  boundless  prairies :  blesses  me 
when  I  bend,  worshipping  in  spirit  and  in 
truth,  on  Gerizim  or  Zion;  when  I  gather  my 
children  around  me  as  Enoch  did,  to  tell  them 
that  the  great  God  who  made  this  green  valley, 
this  shining  river  and  sandy  desert,  who  holds 
those  far  blue  mountains  fast  on  their  sunless  pil- 
lars, and  folds  the  sparrow  to  its  rest  out  on  the 
slender  branch  under  the  stars,  —  this  God  is 
their  Father  and  mine  r  touches  me  when  I  meet 
some  kindred  soul,  or  walk  alone  in  the  shadow 
of  great  woods,  and  commune  of  those  ever-fresh 
mysteries  of  life  and  the  life  to  come,  while  the 
birds  sing  in  the  branches,  and  the  sun  shoots 
down  shafts  of  splendor,  or  the  clouds  gather, 
and  the  thunders  shake  the  great  boles,  awing 
me  into  a  silence  more  sacred  than  our  most  sa- 
cred speech ;  or,  when  I  find  a  man  who  can  say 
words  that  make  me  step  out  more  stoutly  and 
steadily,  who  will  turn  a  grave,  sweet  face  of  pity 
to  me  when  I  stumble,  will  lift  me  out  of  the 
dust  when  I  fall,  will  lend  me  a  shoulder  when  I 
am  weary,  will  make  me  feel  that  there  is  at  least 
one  true  soul  abroad  in  the  world,  walking  with 
God,  listening  to  His  voice,  touching  His  hand, 


HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH   GOD.  109 

and  sure  whenever  the  time  shall  come  for  him 
to  be  taken  up,  to  reveal  some  new  hint  of 
heaven,  as  he  turns  his  face  for  a  moment  ere  h3 
enters  within  the  portal. 

Now,  this  is  what  we  are  trying  to  establish 
and  maintain,  this  most  primitive  and  yet  most 
perennial  faith;  to  see  in  these  most  blessed 
things,  not  the  masters,  but  the  servants  of  the 
soul ;  to  hold  all  questions  of  Bible,  Intercessor, 
Church,  Sabbath,  and  Sacrament  as  the  means  of 
grace,  but  not  the  end.  God  is  the  end  of  all 
our  worship  and  service ;  and  we  want  to  build 
this  faith  into  a  power  massive  enough  to  stand 
impregnable  against  all  the  assaults  of  the  devil, 
under  every  guise ;  and  may  the  God  that  walked 
with  Enoch  walk  with  us  and  help  us  in  this  pur- 
pose. 

We  want  free  churches  in  this  free  land  — 
churches  that  are  strong,  yet  delicate ;  massive, 
but  tender;  Christ-like  and  constant,  gracious 
-ind  good.  And  we  want  all  who  are  one  with 
us  in  this  purpose  to  join  hands  and  help  us. 
Every  large,  free  thinker  should  stand  by  such 
freedom ;  every  believer  in  God,  not  as  shut  up 
in  a  corner  and  hemmed  in  by  these  fire-bars, 


110  HOW  ENOCH  WALKED  WITH  GOD. 

but  as  in  the  whole  world,  with  all  men  for  his 
children,  should  be  glad  of  8uch  a  faith ;  and  I 
doubt  not  but  the  time  is  coming  when  this  will 
be  the  universal  religion.  We  must  work  for 
that  time,  give  our  money  for  it,  our  labor,  and, 
if  need  be,  our  life. 


VI. 

THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

ROM.  xii.  11 :  "  Not  slothful  in  business,  fervent  in  spirit, 
serving  the  Lord." 

GEORGE  STEPHENSON  was  getting  ready  to  go  to 
Methodist  meeting.  He  was  a  young  man,  just 
at  that  period  in  life  when  young  men  go  to 
Methodist  meeting  more  and  more  until  they  are 
brought  directly  under  the  influence  of  the  mas- 
ter-spirit of  the  place,  and  become  in  a  sense 
religious  men.  There  is  not  much  doubt  in  my 
mind,  as  I  read  this  young  man's  life  up  to  this 
time,  that  he  is  in  a  fair  way  to  that  preferment. 
He  has  that  thread  of  natural  piety  and  goodness  in 
his  nature  that  is  almost  sure  to  draw  him  into  a 
more  intimate  relation  with  the  forms  and  indus- 
tries of  the  recognized  religious  life  about  him,  if 
nothing  prevent.  I  said  he  was  getting  ready  to 
go  to  the  meeting,  when  a  neighbor  came  to  tell 
him  he  was  wanted.  He  was  then  running  an 

111 


112      THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

engine  at  a  coal-pit.  There  was  another  pit 
between  this  and  his  home,  which  he  passed 
every  day,  that  had  been  flooded  with  water,  so 
that  the  men  were  beaten  out.  The  company 
got  a  steam-pump  to  clear  the  pit,  and  kept  it  at 
work  for  twelve  months,  with  no  success  at  all. 
The  water,  when  they  had  been  pumping  twelve 
months,  was  as  deep  as  when  they  first  began  to 
pump,  and  the  wives  and  children  were  starving 
for  bread. 

This  young  Stephenson  had  a  most  active  en- 
ergy and  fervent  spirit  towards  whatever  went  by 
steam.  The  great  ambition  of  his  boyhood  was 
to  run  an  engine  ;  and  when  he  rose  to  that  po- 
sition, as  he  did  very  soon  —  for  it  is  a  cheering 
fact,  that  while  a  man  may  long  for  a  hundred 
things  and  not  get  one,  a  boy  hardly  ever  fails  to 
accomplish  his  purpose  if  he  has  a  genuine  hun- 
ger to  be,  or  to  do,  some  particular  thing,  — 
when  this  boy  rose  to  the  position  he  wanted,  he 
treated  his  engine  as  if  he  loved  her.  Whenever 
there  was  a  holiday  and  the  works  were  stopped, 
instead  of  going  out  with  the  rest,  he  studied 
her  until  she  became  as  familiar  to  him  as  his 
own  right  hand.  He  was  not  slothful  in  busi- 


THE   HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS.  113 

ness,  and  he  was  fervent  in  spirit.  Intimate 
with  the  charge  that  was  laid  upon  him,  he  soon 
began  to  perceive  why  those  women  and  chil- 
dren were  starving.  The  difference  between 
what  the  pump  was,  and  what  it  ought  to  be, 
was  the  difference  between  a  tall,  slender,  nar- 
row-chested man  and  a  short,  sturdy,  broad- 
chested  man,  engaged  in  digging  earth  or  scoop- 
ing out  water.  Every  pump  owner  in  the  coun- 
try-side had  tried  to  mend  this  pump  and  failed, 
—  because,  I  suppose,  pump-mending  andengine- 
running  with  them  was  a  business  and  not  a 
passion.  This  young  man,  with  the  fervent  spirit, 
said  one  day,  as  he  went  past  the  pit, "  I  can  clear 
that  pit  in  a  week ; "  and  they  laughed  him  to 
scorn.  But  they  could  not  laugh  the  water  to 
scorn ;  and  so  at  last  they  sent  for  him  to  come 
and  try  his  hand.  He  went  there  instead  of 
going  to  the  church.  He  went  into  the  pit  on  a 
Sunday  morning,  and  worked  all  that  day,  and 
until  the  next  Sunday,  cleared  out  all  the  water 
in  a  week,  and  sent  the  men  down  to  earn  their 
children  bread. 

From  that  time  the  young  man  comes  into  no- 
tice.    He  works  through  all  sorts  of  opposition, 
8 


114      THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

and  never  rests  until  he  has  got  an  engine  to 
run  fifty  miles  an  hour.  He  is,  more  than  any 
other  man,  entitled  to  be  called  the  Father  of  the 
railroad  system.  He  kept  the  diligent  hand  and 
fervent  heart  right  on  to  the  end  of  his  life.  He 
was  a  good  husband,  a  good  father,  a  good  friend, 
and  a  good  citizen.  But  it  is  a  curious  fact  that, 
from  the  time  when  he  was  prevented  from  going 
to  meeting  on  that  Saturday  night, he  never  seems 
to  have  gone,  or  to  have  thought  of  going  again, 
to  the  end  of  his  life.  He  did  not  turn  religious, 
as  we  say,  even  when  he  had  nothing  else  to 
do,  but  lived  a  kindly,  sunny,  or  shadowy,  faithful 
life,  right  on  to  the  end,  and  then  died  quietly, 
and  made  no  sign.  He  never  said  he  feared  he 
had  done  wrong  in  turning  from  that  church  to 
that  coal-pit,  and  trying  to  mend  the  pump  Sun- 
day, instead  of  keeping  the  Sabbath  day  holy  by 
doing  nothing ;  indeed,  it  never  seems  to  have 
occurred  to  him  to  think  the  matter  over  in  any 
way  whatever :  his  heart  was  too  full,  and  his 
hand  too  busy  about  engines,  to  find  room  for  the 
idea ;  to  find  time,  as  we  should  say,  to  save  his 
Boul.  And  so  it  brings  up  a  question,  that  to  me 
has  a  good  deal  of  interest,  namely :  While  this 


THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS.      115 

man  was  so  busy  and  so  fervent  in  the  way  I 
have  noted,  did  he  also  serve  the  Lord?  or,  from 
the  moment  he  turned  aside  from  the  meeting, 
and  began  to  lose  that  sense  and  liking  for  meet- 
ings, and  their  peculiar  services,  did  he  cease  to 
serve  the  Lord  altogether,  and  remaining  only 
diligent  in  business  and  fervent  in  spirit,  go  out 
of  this  world  into  darkness  and  despair  ? 

Now,  I  am  well  aware  what  the  common  answer 
to  such  a  question  would  be :  it  would  be,  "  We 
must  leave  him  in  the  hands  of  God  ;  we  cannot 
answer  the  question,  because  we  have  no  data." 
But  that  is  not  true.  If  he  had  been  an  idle 
good-for-nothing,  a  scampish  sharper,  an  aban- 
doned libertine,  an  unprincipled  truckler,  or  a 
political  vulture ;  if  he  had  beaten  his  wife, 
trained  up  his  child  in  the  way  he  should  go  — 
to  state's  prison ;  if  he  had  been  a  common  nui- 
sance for  sixty-nine  years  and  a  half,  never  going 
into  a  church  except  to  maKe  a  disturbance, 
never  keeping  the  Sabbath  except  in  sensual 
sleep,  and  six  months  before  his  death,  or  -six 
weeks,  or  six  days,  had  repented  of  his  sin,  had 
led  a  good  and  pure  life,  adopted  religious  ideas 
like  those  commonly  held,  and  said  clearly  that 


116  THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

he  believed  God  had  pardoned  his  sins,  and 
would  take  him  to  heaven,  we  should  feel  the 
utmost  confidence  of  that  man's  safety  from  that 
date.  But  we  do  not  feel  sure  for  this  other  man. 
It  is  a  great  mystery,  and  we  must  leave  him  in 
the  hands  of  God.  But  if  you  push  us  to  the 
fair  conclusion  of  our  own  standard  of  religious 
belief,  and  the  books  we  adopt,  we  feel  compelled 
to  say  that  he  has  gone  to  hell. 

Now  this  looks  to  me  like  a  tremendous 
piece  of  injustice  on  the  very  face  of  it.  I 
think  if  a  man  could  be  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  question  as  I  have  stated  it,  and  as  it  really 
stands  in  the  common  theological  systems ;  could 
see  these  men  brought  up  before  what  are  called 
our  Evangelical  churches,  having  never  heard 
of  these  peculiar  religious  ideas  up  to  that  time ; 
could  see  the  men  examined,  and  then  observe 
which  man  was  sent  upward  and  which  down- 
ward by  these  standards,  his  conclusion  would 
be,  that  there  was  something  radically  wrong 
in  their  premises ;  and  I  can  well  imagine  how 
such  a  man  would  argue  for  a  new  trial.  He 
would  say,  "  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  your 
authorities  for  this  curious  decision.  You  tell 


THE   HOLINESS   OP   HELPFULNESS.  117 

me  that  they  bear  the  mint  mark  of  divinity ; 
that  they  have  coine  to  you  from  the  remotest 
antiquity;  from  kings,  and  prophets,  and  apos- 
tles, and  the  Son  of  God  himself;  that  they  are 
the  fruit  of  a  divine  inspiration,  foreshadowed  in 
prophecies,  confirmed  by  miracles,  and  held  by 
martyrs  at  the  stake."  Now  all  this  may  be  true ; 
but  I  know  something  of  the  laws  of  this 
Universe,  —  of  what  enters  into  the  real  life  of 
man  for  blessing  and  for  hurt.  I  cannot,  and 
I  will  not,  deny  the  claim  of  this  man,  who  has 
kept  the  divine  law  six  months  out  of  threescore 
and  ten  years,  to  be  saved.  It  is  always  right  to 
do  right ;  and  a  man  is  bound  upward  from  the 
moment  when  he  does  begin  to  do  well.  When- 
ever that  may  be,  he  begins  to  come  out  of  his 
rags  and  wretchedness  into  a  wholesome  purity 
and  happiness.  But  where  you  have  one  reason 
on  your  authorities  for  saying  that  this  man  is 
good  and  ascended,  because  he  has  done  what 
you  say  for  six  months  out  of  the  threescore 
and  ten  years  of  his  life,  I  have  six  score  and 
twenty  good  reasons  for  the  assurance  that  this 
other  man  is  also  ascended^  because  he  has  done 
good  according  to  the  organic  laws  of  the  world 
ever  since  he  came  into  it. 


118  THE  HOLINESS   OF   HELPFULNESS. 

Now,  be  sure  I  have  not  brought  up  this 
question  only  to  prove  that  the  man  I  have  men- 
tioned for  illustration  was  saved, —  though  the 
common  interpreters  of  the  Christian  doctrine 
claim  that  by  their  standards  it  is  impossible  he 
should  be  saved,  —  but  to  make  the  man,  as  he 
represents  an  idea  of  very  great  importance  in 
our  life,  the  basis  of  some  discussion  of  a  seg- 
ment, at  least,  of  true  religion. 

And  I  say  a  segment,  because  religion  in  all  its 
reaches  is.  as  boundless  as  the  Spirit  of  God,  and 
the  infinitely  varied  life  of  man  can  make  it,  and 
there  can  be  no  exhaustive  system  of  religion,  in 
the  hard,  dry  sense  of  the  term.  Every  system 
is  a  statement,  a  proposition,  a  shadow  of  the 
principles  that  impress  most  deeply  the  man  who 
makes  it.  The  Calvinist  has  not  the  same  idea 
of  Free  Grace  the-  Arminian  has,,  nor  the  Arminian 
the  same  idea  of  Predestination  the  Calvinist  has. 
The  Episcopalian,  and  Quaker,  and  Presbyterian 
have  no  common  union  except  that  which  comes 
from  standing  at  the  angles  of  a  triangle  as 
far  as  possible  apart.  The  men  who  sprinkle, 
and  the  men  who  immerse,  and  the  men  who  do 
neither,  can  all  show  exhaustive  reason  for  their 


THE   HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS.  119 

particular  methods.  And  I  think  the  reason  for 
all  this  lies  far  less  in  the  perverseness  of  the 
men,  than  in  their  powerlessness  to  see  all  the 
glory  and  grandeur  of  the  truth  of  God  that  is 
in  the  world. 

Schools  of  theology  are  like  schools  of  paint- 
ing —  they  are  in  some  measure  the  copy  of  a 
copy.  They  copy  from  their  great  master,  and  he 
copied  from  God.  Walking  down  the  world  of 
truth  and  beauty,  the  great  painter  sees  things 
that  make  his  soul  aflame  with  their  beauty  and 
wonder :  mountains,  meadows,  woodlands,  rivers, 
men  and  women,  sun  and  shadow,  fill  him  with  a 
sense  of  their  intimate,  unutterable  divinity.  But 
he  cannot  paint  all  he  sees ;  he  can  paint  really 
very  little,  but  he  paints  what  he  can  —  lie  fol- 
lows the  bent  of  his  own  genius  and  inspiration ; 
he  brings  in  here  a  meadow,  and  there  a  wood ; 
here  a  mountain,  and  there  a  river  ;•  here  a  flower, 
and  there  a  figure  ;  here  a  bit  of  marvellous  sun- 
light, and  there  a  wonderful  touch  of  shadow ; 
and  makes  them  all  glorious  or  sombre  in  the 
coloring  of  his  own  soul,  and  when  the  picture  is 
done,  those  that  love  it  and  follow  it,  declare 
that  it  exhausts  all  perfection.  But  beautiful 


120  THE  HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS. 

as  it  may  be,  the  man  has  got  in  but  a  very 
small  piece  of  the  infinite  beauty  that  is  all  about 
him.  And  so  it  is  in  religious  truth  :  no  one  sys- 
tem exhausts  even  the  Bible  ;  how  much  less  the 
boundless  wealth  of  truth,  of  which  the  Bible  is 
but  the  part  of  a  record.  The  system  may  be  a 
good  thing  for  the  men  who  love  that  method, 
trying  faithfully  to  copy  the  great  original  who 
founded  the  school ;  the  copyist  in  the  one  case 
will  hardly  need  write  under  his  composition, 
"  This  is  a  mountain,"  and  "  This  is  a  man,"  any 
more  than  in  the  other  he  will  need  to  say,  "  T  am 
religious,  after  the  school  of  Calvin  or  Luther." 
Still  the  Rembrandt  splendors  of  Calvin,  the 
sober-gray  realism  of  Fox,  the  water-color  land- 
scape of  our  Baptist  brother,  the  broad  Hogarths 
of  Wesley,  true  to  exaggeration,  the  sunny  Claude- 
like  pictures  of  Channing,  the  often  stern  Salvator 
pieces  of  Parker,  and  the  rich  composition  of  the 
Episcopal,  which  in  some  lights  geem  to  rise  to 
the  beauty  and  truth  of  the  best  Turners,  and 
in  other  lights  to  descend  to  the  stage  effects 
of  Martin,  and  of  which  no  one  seems  to  be  sure 
about  the  original,  or  whether  there  be  one  —  all 
these  are  true  in  their  way  to  what  the  master 


THE  HOLINESS   OF    HELPFULNESS.  121 

saw  —  a  transcript  of  things  that  filled  his 
soul  with  keen  delight,  or  holy  rapture,  or 
awful  solemnity.  But  beyond  them,  and  above 
them,  and  all  about  them,  were  other  meadows 
"  beautiful  as  the  gardens  of  the  angels  upon 
the  slopes  of  Eden,  other  forests  that  cover  the 
mountains  like  the  shadow  of  God,  other  rivers 
that  move  like  aid  own  eternity." 

.  And  so  the  claim  that  not  one  of  the  sects,  nor 
all  the  sects  together,  have  exhausted  the  truth, 
brings  the  claim  of  this  man  into  court  to  come 
in  for  a  sharer  not  of  salvation  only  in  the  life  to 
come,  but  of  glory  in  the  best,  the  most  religious 
sense,  in  the  life  that  now  is,  though  he  did  take 
such  a  singular  stand.  When  my  friends  said  to 
me  while  yet  a  Methodist  preacher,  "  How  can 
you  preach  for  Dr.  Furness,  in  Philadelphia,  who 
is  a  Unitarian?  we  should  suppose  you  could 
not  find  anything  to  say  that  these  people  would 
listen  to,  and  yet  be  true  to  your  Methodism ;  "  I 
replied,  "  I  find  it  easier  to  preach  to  them  than 
to  preach  at  home ;  for  I  leap  over  the  fence 
that  bounds  the  system  of  Methodism,  and  as 
they  are  already  over  the  fence  that  has  bound- 
ed the  system  of  Unitarianism,  we  all  meet  in 


122  THE  HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS. 

the  boundless  world  of  truth  and  beauty  which 
God  has  made  outside,  and  it  is  wonderful 
how  much  we  find  to  talk  about  when  we  get 
there." 

I  think  the  vital  point  in  the  question  at  issuo 
turns  on  whether,  what  a  man  thinks  and  feels, 
or  what  he  does,  is  to  be  considered  the  essential 
element  in  his  life.  "Whether  certain  ideas,  feel' 
ings,  and  industries  in  relation  to  what  we  agree 
to  call  religion,  are  to  be  counted  the  great  ele- 
ments in  the  nobility  of  this  life,  and  the  safety 
of  the  life  to  come ;  or  whether  to  do  faithfully, 
with  or  without  them,  the  one  good  thing  which 
the  passionate  heart  of  the  man  indicates  that  he 
was  created  to  do,  is  the  true  way  to  live. 

I  think  also  the  honest  verdict  of  the  human 
heart  turns  to  the  deed ;  and  I  picked  up  a  re- 
markable illustration  of  this,  when  once  I  was. 
called  to  a  place  named  Constantine,  in  Michigan, 
to  attend  the  funeral  of  a  gentleman  I  had  known. 
He  was  a  good  man,  but  he  made  no  profession 
of  religion ;  never  went  to  church ;  kept  aloof  from 
all  sects.  He  had  been  for  some  time  in  delicate 
health,  so  that  it  was  dangerous  for  him  to  travel 
in  bad  weather ;  when  just  in  the  twilight  of  one 


THE   HOLINESS   OF   HELPFULNESS.  123 

of  the  most  terrible  spring  nights,  he  was  sum- 
moned  to  Lansing,  to  consult  on  the  impending 
rebellion.  His  wife  tried  to  keep  him  home  until 
morning ;  but  he  felt  he  must  go.  He  went,  and 
never  held  his  head  up  after.  In  my  sermon  I 
pointed  out  the  organic  elements  in  the  life  of  a 
man ;  how  holily  he  may  live  as  a  father  and  hus- 
band and  friend;  mentioned  how  my  hearers  knew 
the  record  our  friend  had  made,  and  touched  on 
the  grandeur  of  the  last  deed  in  which  he  gave  his 
life,  and  then  said,  "  Is  not  this  religion  ?  "  I  was 
the  first  man  holding  this  faith  openly,  who  had 
ever  spoken  there,  but  it  was  touching  to  see 
how  readily  those  men  and  women  caught  the 
idea,  with  what  joy  they  received  it,  and  how 
they  thanked  me  for  confirming  what  had  been  in 
their  hearts  as  a  natural  and  necessary  idea. 

And  once  after  this  I  visited  Camp  Douglas, 
and  sat  down  on  the  cot  of  a  sick  man,  a  prisoner 
from  the  South.  He  said,  "  Are  you  a  minis- 
ter ?  "  I  answered,  "  Yes."  "  What  sort,  Bap- 
tist?" "No."  "Methodist?"  « No."  "Pres- 
byterian ?  "  I  wanted  to  see  how  far  he  knew, 
and  so  still  said, "  No."  I  suppose  these  were  all 
he  had  ever  heard  about,  for  he  opened  his  eyes 


124  THE  HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS. 

wide,  when  he  had  exhausted  his  catalogue,  and 
said,  "  What  then  ?  "  I  answered,  "  Unitarian." 
"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  I  never  heard  of  that  before. 
What  do  they  believe  ?  "  So  I  told  him  how  they 
believe  God  is  our  Father,  and  cares  for  us  every 
one,  and  how  he  takes  a  man  for  what  he  is 
rather  than  for  what  he  says,  and  how  after  death 
he  is  just  as  much  our  Father  as  he  was  before. 
"  Well,"  said  the  man,  "  I  never  heard  that  be- 
fore ;  but  that's  right ;  come  see  me  again."  I 
went,  I  think,  on  the  third  day,  but  his  cot  was 
empty  ;  he  had  gone  to  the  Father. 

John  Ruskin,  in  one  of  his  chapters  on  Modern 
Painters,  enters  into  a  discussion  of  the  mean- 
ings of  help.  He  says  the  clouds  may  come  to- 
gether, but  they  are  no  help  to  each  other,  and  so 
the  removal  of  one  part  is  no  injury  to  the  rest, 
but  if  you  take  the  sap  or  bark  or  pith  from  a 
plant,  you  do  that  plant  essential  injury,  for  the 
part  you  take  away  has  taken  hold  on  that  power 
we  call  life,  by  which  all  things  in  the  plant  help 
each  other ;  take  a  part  from  that  power  so  that 
it  cannot  help  the  rest,  and  it  becomes  what  we 
call  dead.  Then  he  says,  if  you  take  a  limb  from 
an  animal,  it  is  a  far  greater  injury  than  to  tako  a 


THE  HOLINESS   OF   HELPFULNESS.  125 

limb  from  a  tree,  because  intensity  of  life  ^in- 
tensity of  helpfulness  ;  the  more  perfect  the  help 
the  more  dreadful  the  loss ;  the  more  intense  the 
life  the  more  terrible  the  corruption,  and  most 
terribh  'of  all  in  a  man,  because  his  life  is  the 
most  helpful  and  most  intense  of  all.  And  so  he 
ranges  through  this  great  thought  until  he  finds 
that  the  name,  which  of  all  others  is  most  expres- 
sive of  the  being  of  God,  is  that  of  the  Helpful 
One,  or,  in  our  softer  Saxon,  the  Holy  One. 

Now  to  me,  this  expresses  exactly  the  idea  that 
underlies  life.  The  helpful  life  is  the  holy  life. 
Holiness  is  help  ;  sin  is  hinderance.  At  whatever 
point  we  touch  life  to  help  it,  in  whatever  way 
we  help  the  world  and  do  not  hinder  it,  whether 
by  our  prayers,  and  songs,  and  sermons,  and  in- 
dustry in  the  church,  or  by  the  creation  of  a 
locomotive,  or  the  construction  of  a  railroad,  or 
the  painting  of  a  picture,  or  the  writing  of  a 
book,  or  the  digging  of  a  drain,  or  the  forging 
of  a  horse-shoe,  or  the  fighting  of  a  battle  —  in 
whatsoever  thing  we  do,  if  we  really  help  and 
do  not  hinder,  then  that  is  a  holy  life.  And  in 
whatever  way  we  hinder  the  world,  and  stand  in 
the  way  of  its  life,  its  healthy,  hearty  growth,  by 


126      THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS, 

doing  what  will  hurt  or  hinder  men  in  the  largest 
sense,  then  that,  being  the  reverse  of  helpful,  is 
a  sinful  life.  The  first  principles  of  sin  and 
holiness  reach  back  into  all  creeds  and  churches 
so  far  as  they  stand  true  to  life,  and  no  more  j 
and  the  ultimate  touchstone  of  holiness  is  the 
organic  law  by  which  the  best  interests  of  the 
whole  man  can  be  secured  in  his  relation  to  the 
whole  world,  and  all  the  men  that  are  in  it. 

And  there  is  a  beautiful  illustration  of  this 
principle  in  two  related  incidents  in  the  life  of 
Christ.  When  he  sat  down  .weary  at  the  well, 
the  Samaritan  woman  came  to  fill  her  pitcher,  and 
entering  into  conversation  with  him,  found  that 
she  had  got  hold  of  a  preacher  or  prophet,  and 
thinking  to  get  a  solution  of  the  old  vexed  ques- 
tion, as  to  which  was  the  true  religion,  Samaritan 
or  Jew,  said,  "  Our  fathers  worshipped  in  this 
mountain,  and  ye  say  that  in  Jerusalem  men 
ought  to  worship."  He  replied,  "  Ye  worship  ye 
know  not  what ;  we  know  what  we  worship,  for 
salvation  is  of  the  Jews."  But  when  he  heard 
the  story,  or  saw  in  some  inward  way,  how  a  man 
went  down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho  and  fell 
among  thieves,  who  stripped  him  and  wounded 


THE   HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS.  127 

him  and  left  him  for  dead,  and  how  two  Jews,  a 
priest  and  a  Levite,  men  who  stood  first  among 
the  Jews  in  the  relation  of  true  church  worship, 
— if  praying  and  singing  be  true  worship, —  when 
he  saw  them  go  over  to  tho  other  side,  and  leave 
the  helpless  man  to  his  fate,  and  saw  one  of  those 
Samaritans  come  along,  who  did  not  know  what 
they  worshipped,  saw  him  leap  from  his  horse  in 
a  great  flood  of  pity  and  mercy,  hold  up  the  poor 
fellow's  head,  stanch  his  wounds,  set  him  on  his 
own  beast  and  trudge  along  on  foot  himself,  as  if 
there  was  not  a  robber  within  a  thousand  miles, 
carry  him  to  a  tavern,  and  not  throw  him  on 
the  county  when  he  got  there,  but  pledge  him- 
self to  pay  all  the  expenses,  and  then  walk  away 
as  if  he  had  done  one  of  the  most  common  things 
in  the  world,  —  the  great  soul  saw  past  the  old 
dogma,  into  this  fresh  organic  law,  this  universal 
principle  of  worship,  this  holiness  of  helpfulness, 
and  his  soul  clave  to  the  soul  of  the  Samaritan 

who  knew  not  God. 

* 
And  be    sure    this  principle  underlies   every 

other  principle  whatever  in  the  religious  life. 
I  can  teach  God  really  just  so  far  as  I  am 
good.  Christ  will  be  divine  greatly  by  my  di- 


128      THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

vmity.  I  am  my  own  proof,  before  letters,  of  the 
intrinsic  worth  of  human  nature.  I  shall  not 
have  much  trouble  in  proving  to  a  man  God 
is  our  Father,  if  I  can  prove  to  him  I  am  his 
brother.  That  volume  of  the  Evidences  of  Chris- 
tianity which  the  other  side  never  did  answer, 
and  never  will,  is  a  book  written  on  what  the 
apostle  calls  the  fleshly  tables  of  the  heart. 

And  this  is  the  grand  use  of  churches, 
systems,  sacraments,  and  ceremonies.  They 
reach  back  into  the  principle  of  helpfulness 
to  find  their  seal ;  they  are  centres  of  help  to 
the  world,  and  to  the  man,  or  they  are  noth- 
ing. I  care  not  one  pin  for  their  age,  evidences, 
liturgies,  theologies.  If  the  church  that  holds 
them  and  holds  you,  cannot  help  you,  do  not  go 
to  it.  If  it  does  help  you,  do  not  dare  to  stay 
away,  when  you  need  help ;  and  that,  I  take  it, 
with  most  of  us,  is  pretty  much  all  the  time.  If 
your  church  does  not  help  others,  let  it  perish. 
If  it  does,  care  for  it  as  you  care  for  every  noble 
and  helpful  thing :  nay,  care  for  it  as  the  noblest. 
If  the  liberal  Christian  preacher  here,  or  any- 
where, cannot  help  you  in  your  most  central  and 
sacred  life,  and  the  Catholic  bishop  can,  then  I 


THE  HOLINESS   OF   HELPFULNESS.  129 

charge  you,  on  your  allegiance  to  God  and  your 
own  soul,  go  to  the  bishop  by  the  shortest  route ; 
but  if  we  do  help  you,  if  our  words  and  deeds 
touch  some  spring,  that  is  to  all  the  rest  of  your 
manhood  what  the  mainspring  is  to  a  watch,  if 
we  help  you  to  a  clearer  vision  and  a  deeper 
trust,  to  a  fairer  hope  and  a  more  abundant  help- 
fulness, then  we  take  hold  on  first  things ;  we 
stand  to  you  in  the  old  apostolic  relation;  we 
carry  the  keys,  the  bishop  does  not ;  and  every 
such  man  is  the  rock  on  which  the  Master  will 
build  his  church,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not 
prevail  against  it. 

Here,  then,  was  the  great  use  of  the  man  I 
have  noted  for  illustration  —  his  place  in  the 
world  was  not  in  the  church,  but  in  the  foundery 
—  he  was  not  the  heart,  but  the  hand  in  the  body 
of  Christ ;  but  he  was  the  hand,  and  his  mission 
was  to  be  strong,  diligent,  faithful,  true  to  his 
trust,  and  let  all  the  rest  take  care  of  itself.  God 
raised  him  up  to  inaugurate  railroads  ;  woe  to  him 
if  he  does  not  do  that.  He  will  endanger  his 
soul  if  he  neglects  that.  His  place  on  that  Sun- 
day was  in  the  coal-pit ;  woe  to  him  if  the  Master 
comes  and  finds  him  in  the  Methodist  meeting. 
9 


130  THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

The  great  problem  for  him  to  solve  is,  not  whether 
he  is  going  to  be  happy  in  meeting,  or  happy  on 
his  death-bed,  or  happy  at  all  on  this  earth,  but  if 
he  is  going  to  be  helpful  in  the  one  supreme  way 
in  which  God  has  made  him  to  be  helpful.  If  he 
cannot  be  a  true  husband,  and  father,  and  friend, 
and  man,  and  machine-maker,  except  he  belong  to 
the  church,  then  at  his  peril  he  fails  to  join  one. 
If  the  church  and  its  religious  ideas,  emotions, 
and  inspiration  are  needed  to  make  him  a  good 
man,  if  he  is  not  brave,  faithful,  strong,  and  lov- 
ing, and  the  church  can  aid  him  to  be  all  that,  as  I 
believe  it  can,  then  he  must  seek  the  church  ;  but 
if  all  that  is  in  him,  then  God  is  in  him  to  will  and 
to  do  of  His  good  pleasure,  and  when  he  carries 
that  locomotive  up  to  the  throne,  God  will  say, 
"Well  done." 

There  can  be  no  more  striking  and  conclusive 
proof  of  where  the  claim  ought  to  rest  for  the 
intrinsic  worth  of  that,  for  the  lack  of  which 
most  religious  teachers  are  conscientiously  com- 
pelled to  send  such  men  as  Stephenson  to  the 
pit,  than  to  notice  the  way  in  which  the  war  tried 
them,  as  by  fire.  It  is  a  most  striking  study. 
From  1857  to  1861  the  whole  land  went  under 


THE  HOLINESS   OP   HELPFULNESS.  131 

a  great  tide  of  revival.  From  Chicago,  our  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  went  to  New  Orleans, 
joined  there  in  prayers  and  praises.  It  was  but 
one  instance  in  a  thousand.  The  entire  religious 
world  was  one.  But  when  the  South  seceded, 
the  church  seceded  with  the  state,  and  then 
came  the  wonder.  These  men  held  precisely  the 
same  religious  beliefs  and  dogmas,  uttered  the 
same  prayers  and  received  the  same  sacraments 
as  they  had  always  done ;  and  they  found  that 
those  things  would  work  as  solidly  to  inspire 
treason  as  truth.  "When  Massa  Jackson  pray 
all  night,"  his  body  servant  said,  "  den  I  pack  his 
tings  ;  I  know  he  go  on  a  raid."  Our  great  dead 
friend,  our  father  Abraham,  noticed  this  in  our 
darkest  days,  and  said,  the  rebels  prayed  a  great 
deal,  and  to  all  appearances,  with  the  best  results. 
So  can  the  wine  the  Samaritan  takes  to  restore 
the  dying  man  on  the  road  to  Jericho,  madden 
the  robber  to  murder  them  both.  It  is  only  in 
being  true  and  right,  in  being  on  the  side  of 
truth,  and  justice,  and  humanity,  only  in  reach- 
ing back  into  first  things  and  being  a  helper 
there,  that  then  God  will  be  true,  and  every  man 
godlike,  whose  life  is  of  that  noble  grain. 


132  THE  HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS. 

And  so  ideas,  emotions,  creeds,  meetings,  sac- 
raments, and  ceremonies  are  all  good  as  they  do 
good  :  but  they  are  as  passive  as  the  powder 
which,  for  ought  I  know,  came  out  of  the  one 
cask  to  slay  our  father  Abraham,  and  the 
wretched  murderer  by  whose  hand  he  fell.  It 
is  a  weighty  thing  to  me,  that  Christ  makes 
those  men,  to  whom  he  tells  us  he  will  say, 
"  Come  ye  blessed,"  entirely  unconscious  that 
the  things  they  had  done  were  in  any  particular 
way  religious.  To  be  sure  they  had  visited 
prisons,  fed  the  hungry,  clothed  the  naked,  and 
tended  the  sick ;  but  then  what  religion  was 
there  about  that  any  more  than  in  the  Samaritan's 
saving  the  life  of  that  dying  Jew  ?  That  was 
merely  humanity,  helpfulness,  morality.  But  the 
prayers  the  man  said  when  he  got  back  to  Mount 
Gerizim,  the  purifications  and  praises  he  went 
through  there,  these  were  his  religion.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  they  did  help  him,  that  they  in- 
spired him,  and  kept  his  heart  fresh  to  do  just  so 
next  time.  But  the  thing  he  did,  and  not  the 
belief  he  held,  or  the  prayers  he  said,  or  the  day 
he  observed  —  the  thing  he  did  was  his  religion ; 
the  helpfulness  of  the  man  was  his  holiness,  as  it 


THE  HOLINESS   OP  HELPFULNESS.  133 

will  be  to  those  to  whom  Christ  will  say,  "  Well 
done  ;  "  while  on  the  other  side,  those  to  whom 
he  will  say,  "  Depart  ye  cursed,"  are  the  men 
who  will  cry,  "  Did  we  not  teach  in  thy  name, 
and  cast  out  devils,  and  work  wonders?"  But 
he  will  say,  "  Depart ;  I  never  knew  you.  You 
preached  and  did  wonders,  but  you  did  not 
help."  And  so  entirely  does  this  helpfulness 
make  our  holiness,  that  the  same  deep  and  strong 
principle  is  made  to  reach  across  the  worlds,  and 
in  the  life  to  come,  to  give  the  faithful  helper 
more  power  to  help,  as  the  best  gift  of  God  in 
heaven.  The  poet  sings  of  a  noble  man  dead,  — 

"  How  can  we  doubt  that  for  one  so  true 
There  must  be  other  nobler  work  to  do?" 

The  Lord  says,  u  Well  done ;  thou  hast  been 
ruler  over  ten  pounds,  I  will  make  thee  ruler 
over  ten  cities." 

And  so  I  would  affirm  and  rejoice  in  a  church 
broad  enough  to  take  into  full  membership  and 
full  communion  all  those  men  who  may  never 
come  inside  the  church  doors,  who  never  do  a 
hand's  turn  at  church  work,  who  know  nothing 
of  our  belief  or  practices,  but  whose  whole  heart, 
and  soul,  and  mind,  and  strength,  are  devoted  to 


134  THE  HOLINESS  OF  HELPFULNESS. 

some  piece  of  helpfulness  that  shall  lift  this  dark 
world  into  the  sun ;  —  wherever  that  man  may  be 
working  the  part  of  him  that  sent  him,  whether 
at  the  anvil,  like  my  own  father,  or  at  the  foot 
of  Missionary  Ridge,  charging  up  hill  like  my 
adopted  son,  or  resting  for  a  moment  to  watch 
the  mimic  life  on  the  stage  with  Abraham  Lin- 
coln ;  let  the  Angel  of  Death  come  ever  so  sud- 
denly, cast  over  them  his  white  robe  and  whis- 
per peace,  that  place  in  which  he  finds  them  is 
the  very  nearest  point  to  heaven ;  and  the  first 
word  that  greets  them  is  the  glad  "  Well  done." 
And  I  would  have  all  such  true  and  faithful  men 
know  this ;  would  fain  say  to  them,  u  This  that  you 
are  doing  is  work  for  God ;  you  may  be  a  saint 
of  God  in  the  place  where  you  stand." 

Friends,  a  mere  feeling  may  fail  you,  but  a 
helpful  spirit  never  can,  because  that  is  a  holy 
spirit.  The  ready  hand  and  the  fervent  heart,  if 
the  one  work  and  the  other  beat  for  good,  is  sure 
to  be  right.  You  mothers  may  be  occupied  with 
work  for  your  children  in  the  house,  until  you 
have  no  time  for  what  you  call  religion  ;  you 
men  may  not  know  which  way  to  turn  in  con- 
sequence of  business  in  the  office,  and  you  may 


THE  HOLINESS   OF   HELPFULNESS.  135 

wonder  whether  so  much  to  do  in  this  world  ia 
safe  for  the  next;  you  may  long  for  the  forms 
and  feelings  that  are  counted  of  such  importance 
in  many  churches.  Now  do  not  misunderstand 
me :  if  they  would  help  you  to  be  more  helpful, 
you  cannot  get  too  many.  But  if  they  stand 
instead  of  your  helpfulness,  so  that  in  feeling 
happy  you  think  you  are  religious,  and  are  not 
helpful,  they  are  dangerous,  and  they  may  come 
to  be  deadly. 

You  may  die,  as  this  man  did,  at  the  close  of  a 
long,  faithful,  helpful  life,  and  give  no  sign ;  and 
yet  no  understanding  soul  will  doubt  that,  for  one 
so  true  there  must  be  other  nobler  work  to  do ; 
or  you  may  die,  with  a  testimony  shining  like 
burnished  gold,  at  the  end  of  a  life  in  which  you 
did  not  even  drive  away  the  dogs  from  the 
beggar  at  your  gate,  but  you  will  wake  up  in 
the  torment  of  an  unsatisfied  soul,  and  go  into 
the  hell  of  lost  opportunities. 

And  if  you  say, "  I  am  hedged  about,  I  can  do 
nothing ;  I  fain  would  help,  but  I  cannot,"  —  your 
very  longing  is  help.  "  They  also  serve  who  only 
stand  and  wait."  It  is  never  true  that  we  are  not 
helpers ;  where  the  fervent  heart  is;  there  is  the 


136  THE  HOLINESS   OF  HELPFULNESS. 

servant  of  God,  and  unto  him  comes  ever  with 
the  work  the  reward.  He  is  still  and  strong  in 
God,  because  he  is  a  co-worker  with  God,  and  his 
life  holds  for  itself  a  secret  which  is  not  known 
to  another  —  he  has  come  in  his  very  work  to 
the  rest  that  remaineth. 

"  Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  shadow  of  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
'  What  writest  thou?  '     The  vision  raised  its  head, 
And  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 
Answered,  '  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord  I ' 
'  And  is  mine  one  ? '  asked  Abou.      '  Nay,  not  so,' 
Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low, 
But  cheerly  still,  and  said,  '  I  pray  thee,  then, 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men.' 
The  angel  wrote,  and  vanished.     The  next  night 
He  came  again  with  great  awakening  light, 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest; 
And,  lo,  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest  I " 


VII. 

GASHMU. 

NEH.  vi.  6 :  "  It  is  reported  among  the  heathen,  and  Gashmu 
saith  it." 

MY  text  centres  in  some  human  interests  that 
were  painfully  real  twenty-two  hundred  years 
ago ;  and  I  propose,  first,  to  tell  you  those  parts 
of  the  story  that  especially  touch  the  text,  and 
second,  to  note  for  you  how  the  text  again 
touches  our  life  and  time. 

Nehemiah  was  cup-bearer  to  an  old  Persian 
king.  The  position  was  one  of  great  trust.  He 
was  a  Jew,  a  prince  of  the  old  line,  whose  father 
had  preferred  Persia  to  Palestine,  and  remained 
there  when  a  great  many  of  his  countrymen 
went  out  of  the  captivity  to  the  fatherland.  It 
is  no  matter  what  his  reasons  were  for  settling, 
but  I  suppose  he  never  quite  forgot  the  old 
country,  — no  man  ever  does,  —  and  contrived  to 
transmit  the  love  to  his  son,  who  one  day  hap- 

137 


GASHiftf. 

pened  on  some  Jews,  fresh  from  Jerusalem,  who 
told  him  that  the  people  there  were  in  very 
great  distress ;  the  whole  province  was  in  afflic- 
tion ;  the  walls  of  the  city  broken  down,  the  gates 
burned  with  fire;  and  he  tells  us  when  he 
heard  these  things  he  sat  down  and  wept  and 
mourned,  and  besought  God  to  help  him  get 
things  righted.  Then  he  determined  to  appeal 
to  the  king,  but  had  to  wait  four  months  for  the 
right  moment.  One  day  he  had  to  give  the  king 
wine  ;  he  was  very  much  troubled :  the  king  saw 
by  his  face  that  he  was  sad,  and  said,  "  Why  art 
thou  sad  ?  thou  art  not  sick ;  this  must  be  some 
heart  sorrow.'-'  Then  he  said,  "  0  king,  why 
should  I  not  be  sad,  when  the  city,  the  place  of 
the  graves  of  my  fathers,  lieth  waste,  and  the 
gates  are  burned  with  fire."  Then  the  king  said, 
"  What  is  thy  request  ?  "  And  I  said  unto  the 
king,  "  Send  me  to  the  city  of  my  fathers'  sepul- 
chres, -that  I  may  build  it."  So  the  king  said, 
"  How  long  wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  "  And  I  set  a 
time ;  and  the  king  sent  me  away,  and  gave  me 
letters  to  the  governor  to  pass  me  on  to  Judah, 
and  a  letter  to  the  chief  forester,  bidding  him 
give  me  all  the  timber  I  wanted. 


139 

The  good  patriot  in  good  time  got  to  Jerusa* 
lem,  and  found  about  the  place  a  party  with 
some  power,  not  only  content  to  see  this  ruin, 
but  determined  to  cry  down  reform;  and  it 
grieved  them  exceedingly  that  there  was  come 
a  man  to  seek  the  welfare  of  the  children  of 
Israel.  There  is  then  a  touching  picture  of 
three  days  silence,  in  which,  no  doubt,  he  pon- 
dered what  had  best  be  done.  Then  he  rose 
up  in  the  night,  and  with  one  horse  and  a  few 
men  made  a  secret  survey  of  the  ground,  from 
the  valley  gate  to  the  dragon  well,  from  the 
dragon  well  to  the  fountain  gate  ;  then  to  the 
king's  pool,  where  the  ruin  was  so  bad  his  horse 
could  not  get  along  at  all.  Then  he  went  in  the 
night  by  the  brook,  and  viewed  the  wall,  and 
turned  back  and  entered  the  gate  of  the  valley, 
and  so  returned ;  telling  neither  priests,  nor 
rulers,  nor  nobles  what  he  had  done.  And  then, 
when  all  was  ready,  he  said,  "  See,  now,  what 
distress  we  are  in !  let  us  build  up  the  walls  of 
Jerusalem,  and  take  away  the  reproach."  And 
I  told  them  how  the  hand  of  God  was  upon  me, 
and  told  them  the  king's  words.  Then  they  all 
«aid,  "  Let  us  rise  up  and  build."  So  one  party 


140  GASHMU. 

built  to  the  sheep  gate,  and  another  to  the  fish 
gate,  and  one  to  the  old  gate,  and  one  to  the 
palace  gate,  and  one  to  the  valley  gate,  and  one 
to  the  fountain  gate,  and  one  to  the  sepulchres, 
and  one  to  the  armory,  and  one  to  the  horse 
gate.  And  the  goldsmiths  did  a  piece,  and  the 
apothecaries  a  piece,  and  the  ministers  a  piece  ; 
and  one  man,  whose  children  have  spread  over 
all  the  earth,  repaired  a  little  piece  that  stood 
just  opposite  his  own  chamber ;  and  one  family, 
whose  children  are  not  all  lost,  thank  God,  built 
a  thousand  cubits.  So,  on  the  twenty-fifth  day 
of  the  month  Elul,  early  in  our  September,  fifty- 
two  days  from  the  time  they  began,  walls  and 
gates  and  locks  and  bars  were  all  done. 

But  if  this  earnest,  silent  man  had  done  no 
more  than  simply  build  the  walls  of  his  native 
city,  I  should  not  select  him  from  ten  thousand 
who  have  done  as  well  or  better.  The  real 
thing  is,  with  him  as  it  is  with  all  of  us,  what  he 
built  with  the  wall ;  what  he  went  through  to 
build  it ;  what  the  devil,  in  different  forms,  did 
to  stop  him.  and  how  he  kept  on  finding  new 
sources  of  power  for  the  exigencies  of  the  time, 
holding  fast  steadily  to  God  until  his  work  was 


GASHMTJ.  141 

done.  That  is  the  jewel  in  this  setting  of  the 
Scriptures  that  brings  the  man  and  his  lesson 
near  to  you  and  me. 

Three  men  especially  in  the  community,  were 
determined  to  oppose  all  attempts  at  renovation. 
They  said  it  was  rank  rebellion  against  the 
king.  They  cried  out,  "  What  are  these  feeble 
Jews  doing?  Will  they  fortify  themselves? 
Will  they  right  things  in  a  day  ?  Will  they  cre- 
ate good  stones  out  of  burnt  rubbish?  Why, 
if  a  fox  go  up,  he  will  break  down  their  wall. 
If  they  go  to  do  this  work,  rather  than  let  them, 
we  will  surprise  and  kill  them."  But  this  man 
said,  "  The  God  of  heaven  will  prosper  us,  and 
so  we  will  build."  And  the  people  had  a  mind 
to  work.  So  they  prayed  to  God,  and  set  a 
watch ;  and  he  said,  "  Do  not  be  afraid,  but 
fight  for  your  homes,  and  brothers,  and  sons, 
and  wives,  and  daughters."  So  some  builded  the 
wall,  and  some  held  the  spears  and  shields ;  and 
every  builder  had  a  sword  girded  on  his  side, 
and  he  says,  "  I  set  men  to  blow  the  trumpet, 
so  that  wherever  the  trumpet  sounded,  the  peo- 
ple should  be  ready  to  fight."  So  we  builded 
and  were  ready  to  fight,  and  from  the  time  when 


142  GASHMU. 

we  began  until  we  ended,  from  morning  to  star- 
light, and  from  starlight  to  morning,  we  were 
working  and  watching,  and  not  one  of  us  put 
off  our  garments  except  for  the  washing. 

Then,  when  the  wall  was  builded  in  the  face 
of  this  enmity,  when  there  was  no  hope  for  force, 
they  tried  fraud.  They  sent  four  times  to  ask 
this  great  worker  to  come  into  council,  and  four 
times  he  replied,  "  I  am  doing  a  great  work,  so 
that  I  cannot  come  down  ;  why  should  the  work 
cease,  while  I  leave  it,  and  come  to  you  ?  "  Then 
one  of  them  sent  his  servant,  with  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand,  in  which  was  written,  "  It  is  re- 
ported among  the  heathen,  and  Gashmu  saith 
it,  that  thou  art  intending  to  rebel,  and  hast 
built  the  wall  so  that  thou  mayest  be  a  king, 
and  hast  set  preachers  in  Jerusalem  to  proclaim 
thee  king.  Now,  we  will  report  all  this  to  the 
court.  Come,  if  thou  wilt  not  confer  with  us, 
and  let  us  take  counsel."  Then  he  says,  I  sent 
to  them,  saying,  "  There  is  no  such  thing  done. 
Ye  are  making  it  out  of  your  own  heart,  to 
stop  the  good  work."  Finally,  a  man  came,  as 
he  claimed,  from  the  Lord,  and  said,  "  Go  into 
the  temple,  and  shut  thyself  in  to  save  thy  life, 


GASHMU.  143 

for  they  mean  to  kill  thee  in  the  night."  But  I 
said,  "  Shall  such  a  man  as  I  flee  into  the  tem- 
ple to  save  my  life?  Where  is  the  man  that 
would  do  that  ?  I  will  not  go  in."  And  when 
I  had  said  that,  I  saw  the  Lord  had  not  sent 
him.  So  the  wall  was  finished.  My  text  then 
touches,  as  you  see,  one  of  the  most  trying  sorts 
of  hinderance  that  every  man  must  face  and 
conquer,  who  determines  to  do  anything  ahead 
of  the  littleness  and  unfaithfulness  of  the  time. 
And  now  I  will  note,  — 

I.  Who  Gashmu  was. 

II.  What  he  tried  to  do ;  and, 

III.  What  came  of  it. 

I.  Personally,  we  do  not  know  Gashmu  from 
the  ten  thousand  men  of  his  era.  He  was  Gash- 
mu the  Arabian,  and  that  is  all. 

But  his  real  identity  is  not  centred  on  the 
year  of  his  birth,  or  who  was  his  father,  or  how 
much  he  was  worth,  but  on  what  he  did.  When 
our  life  begins,  our  name  is  almost  everything ; 
but  when  our  life  is  ended,  it  has  been  heavily 
freighted  with  good  or  evil,  and  is  what  the 
things  are  to  which  it  gives  personal  identity. 
This  man's  house  has  crumbled  into  ruin.  Hia 


144  GASHMTT. 

father,  his  birthday,  and  his  money  at  interest 
have  all  gone  into  a  night,  for  which  there  is  no 
morning.  The  woman  that  loved  him,  the  chil- 
dren that  were  born  to  him,  the  men  that  fought 
him  or  flattered  him,  have  not  left  even  a  shadow 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  What  church  he  went 
to,  what  creed  he  held  to,  what  book  was  most 
sacred  to  him,  what  ideas  in  politics,  or  morals, 
or  religion,  were  final  and  unquestionable  — 
these  things  have  all  gone,  and  left  no  more 
trace  of  the  man  than  the  particular  flowers  he 
tended  under  that  September  sun.  But  he  did 
one  solid  thing ;  he  came  out  square  against  a 
man  who  was  determined  to  do  good,  and  was 
earnestly  doing  it,  and  tried  to  put  him  down. 
Gashmu,  I  suppose,  was  a  man  whose  word  went 
a -good  way  in  that  little  corner  of  the  world  ;  a 
man  worth  referring  to  when  you  wanted  to 
make  a  thing  go.  If  h'e  said  it  was  so,  there  was 
no  more  to  be  said.  A  man  who  had  paid  his  way, 
and  kept  a  good  name,  and  never  disturbed  his 
neighborhood  with  visionary  projects,  and  never, 
up  to  that  time,  let  them  see  that  he  was  igno- 
rant, or  stupid,  or  shallow.  Perhaps  he  did  not 
even  know  it  himself;  or,  it  may  be,  that  he 


GASHMU. 


145 


was  not  stupid,  but  only  selfish,  or  a  bigot,  and 
here  was  the  fire  to  the  dry  wood  that  had  been 
piled  ready ;  here  the  one  reason  why  he  should 
cry,  "  Lead  us  not  into  temptation ;  "  here  the  sin 
that  so  easily  beat  him. 

He  might  have  satisfied  himself  in  half  an 
hour  that  this  man  was  all  right ;  half  an  hour's 
talk  would  have  convinced  him  that  Nehemiah 
was  an  estimable,  truthful,  and  unselfish  man  as 
ever  lived.  Gash.mu  was  probably  on  the  wrong 
side  at  the  start,  and  was  too  proud  to"  acknowl- 
edge it ;  or  he  did  not  like  Nehemiah  the  first 
time  he  saw  him ;  or  had  lived  so  long  beside  the 
ruins  that  he  had  come  to  admire  them  more 
than  sound  walls ;  —  how  can  I  tell  you  what  were 
the  motive  powers  that  pushed  him  on  to  sin,, 
when  I  see  all  these  reasons,  and  a  score  of 
others,  actuating  the  Gashmus  of  to-day.  A 
motive  power  there  must  have  been,  but  that 
is  lost  with  all  that  he  had  or  was.  This  only, 
this  one  thing  is  left:  A  good  man  was  doing  a 
good  work  with  all  his  might,,  and  bad  men  tried 
to  hinder  him.  They  tried  to  hurt  his  person. 
Gasnmu  was  above  that.  He  was  none  of  your 
common  rowdies.  Sanballat  and  Tobiah  might 
10 


146  GASHMTL 

do  thatr  but  not  Gashmu ;  yet  Gashmu  will  sit 
there  and  muse  his  dislike,  and  be  glad  to  hear 
the  petty  stories  that  float  like  thistles-down 
through  the  neighborhood  against  the  innocent 
man  ;  words  are  twisted  and  turned  to  meanings 
Nehemiah  never  thought  of,  and  Gashmu  hopes 
they  are  true ;  he  wishes  they  were  true ;  the 
wish  is  the  father  to  the  thought,  and  he  believes 
them.  One  story,  in  particular,  gets  credence. 
This  man  means  to  be  a  king.  I  suppose  at  first 
it  was  only,  "  I  wonder  if  he  does  not  mean  to  be 
a  king."  Then  "  I  guess  he  does  mean  to  be  a 
king."  Gashmu  hears  the  floating  absurdity.  On 
any  other  subject  he  would  pronounce  anything 
so  empty  as  this  rumor  silly ;  but  when  this  man 
is  the  subject  of  the  rumor,  he  would  rather 
believe  it  than  not.  He  will  go  over  the  first 
thing  to-morrow  and  take  a  look  at  things,  not  at 
the  man,  but  at  the  walls.  Then  the  whole  bad 
nature  of  him  is  stirred  to  its  uttermost  deep. 

There  can  be  no  reason  short  of  rebellion  to 
justify  such  a  work  as  that  j  he  has  no  doubt  in 
his  own  mind  now  about  the  rebellion  ;  he  re- 
members twenty  instances  in  which  men  have 
prepared  for  rebellion  in  exactly  the  same  way ; 


GASHMU.  147 

• 

this  man  certainly  means  to  rebel.  But  so  far 
Gashmu  is  free  from  the  last  penalty ;  he  can  go 
home  and  be  silent,  and  he  will  be  saved  from 
the  shame  of  all  the  ages.  No,  he  cannot  do 
that,  for  as  he  goes  home,  ready  ears  listen,  and 
the  fatal  word  is  uttered  in  his  vexation,  "  That 
man  certainly  means  to  be  a  king ;  "  and  he  can 
never  get  that  word  back  again,  though  he  weep 
tears  of  blood  for  it.  Before  night  it  is  repeated 
by  twenty  tongues, "  He  intends  to  rebel :  Gashmu 
says  it."  So  Gashmu  has  permitted  his  prejudices 
to  grow  into  a  lie.  Gashmu  is  to  live  thousands 
of  years  for  one  purely  false  assertion,  and  to  be 
the  representative  man  of  unprincipled  gossips 
and  narrow  bigots  as  long  as  the  world  stands. 
He  cannot  kill  the  shame ;  no  !  nor  by  living 
can  he  live  it  down.  The  days  have  grown  to 
weeks,  the  weeks  to  months,  the  months  to  years, 
the  years  to  ages,  and  that  is  still  a  sad  name, 
branded  with  a  lie.  "  It  is  commonly  reported, 
and  Gashmu  said  it."  Note  now,  I  pray  you, 
some  Gashmus  in  our  churches,  and  our  social 
and  national  life.  First  of  all,  there  are  Gashmus 
in  the  church,  and  Gashmu  said  it,  is  at  the 
bottom  of  nine  tenths  of  all  the  differences  in 
Christendom. 


148  GASHMU. 

I  suppose  that  men  will  forever  prefer  this  or 
that  form  of  religion,  as  the  Switzer  prefers  a 
mountain  and  the  Hollander  a  flat.  They  were 
born  to  it.  The  first  Switzer  had  the  prefer- 
ence for  mountains  strong  in  his  nature,  and  it 
has  rooted  itself  deeper  into  every  new  age.  So 
it  is  in  the  things  which  are,  as  it  were,  outside 
vital  religion  in  all  churches.  The  Hollander  can 
live  in  Switzerland,  and  the  Switzer  in  Holland, 
but  not  so  well  or  so  happily  it  may  be  ;  still, 
the  fact  that  they  can  live  a  stout  life  when  they 
change  places,  is  conclusive  on  the  vital  life  there 
is  in  both  countries  for  both  men.  So  it  is  in 
churches. 

Some  men  like  their  religion,  as  the  eagle  likes 
his  nest,  on  a  bare  crag  above  the  reach  of  the 
fowler,  commanding  great  sweeps  of  country  and 
utterly  alone ;  and  some,  like  the  lark,  will  soar 
while  they  sing,  but  build  a  nest  on  the  sward 
with  all  common  and  lowly  things  that  stay  on 
the  earth ;  and  if  we  could  ever  grow  so  large- 
hearted  as  to  recognize  this  spiritual  conforma- 
tion, it  would  trouble  us  no  more  to  see  a  good 
man  in  the  church  of  Rome  than  it  troubles  the 
eagle  to  see  the  lark.  Tt  would  be  as  natural  and 
beautiful  for  us  to  see  men  in  the  Presbyterian 


GASHMTJ, 

church,  or  in  the  Episcopalian,  as  it  is  to  see  one 
bird  build  in  a  thorn  bush,  another  in  an  apple 
tree,  and  a  third  in  a  three  century  pine,  or  to 
see  a  Switzer  at  Berne,  and  a  Hollander  in  Rotter- 
dam. But  it  is  notorious  that  this  is  not  so.  If 
you  push  the  good  Baptist  brother  to  the  last 
result  of  his  creed,  you  are  pretty  sure  to  find 
that  he  can  only  give  you  the  choice  of  very  cold 
water,  or  something  exactly  at  the  other  point  of 
the  diameter.  The  Unitarian  can  be  logical,  only 
in  showing  that  Trinitarians  are  idolaters.  Then 
we  are  as  far  apart  as  Mount  Gerizim  and  Mount 
Zion  were  in  the  old  time.  The  Jews  had  no 
dealings  with  the  Samaritans ;  the  Episcopalians 
have  none  with  the  Presbyterians,  and  if  the 
members  of  both  were  not  far  better  than  the 
set  Gashmuisms  of  their  churches,  they  would 
be  obliged  to  count  the  pastors  of  the  Unitarian 
churches  very  wicked  men. 

Now,  who  is  accountable  for  all  this  ?  Gashmu. 
It  is  commonly  reported,  and  Gashmu  said  it. 
These  men  and  women  have  natures  as  tolerant 
as  H<  llander  and  Switzer  to  swamp  and  moun- 
tain. They  love  ea^h  other  heartily,  and  will 
laugb  or  weep  for  the  same  gladness  or  gloom. 


150  GASHMtf. 

They  will  stand  at  the  same  death-bed,  and  look 
upward  in  the  same  conviction  that  heaven  lies 
above  us,  and  pass  round  the  same  little  child 
with  the  same  original  and  beautiful  untruthful- 
ness  about  its  perfect  beauty  and  parental  re- 
semblance, and  as  long  as  they  keep  the  good 
sweet  nature,  be  interested  alike  in  all  these 
wonderful  revelations  to  youth  and  maiden,  which 
are  just  as  fresh  while  the  world  grows  older, 
as  was  the  first  snow-drop  in  Eden.  But  watch 
us  when  we  come  near  the  confines  of  creeds ; 
just  as  we  grow  tolerant  here,  we  are  counted 
out  as  backsliders ;  let  us  be  large-hearted  here, 
and  we  become  suspected.  Who  has  sundered 
us  ?  Gashmu.  Away  back  in  the  old  time,  a  man 
came,  no  matter  whether  he  belonged  to  this 
church  or  that,  saw  the  walls  of  Zion  broken 
down  and  in  ruins,  was  smitten  to  the  heart,  won 
men  over  to  help  him,  turned  to  with  all  his 
might  and  began  to  repair  the  waste  places,  but 
Gashmu,  who  had  got  to  consider  the  ruin  just 
about  what  he  wanted,  got  a  grain  of  bitterness 
into  his  soul,  — 

"  One  little  pitted  speck  in  garnered  fruit, 
Which,  rotting  inward,  slowly  moulders  all." 


GASHMU.  151 

And  there  was  uncertainty  and  troubte  all  about. 
The  men  who  had  lived  there  all  their  life,  and 
were  contented  with  the  ruin,  could  not  tell  what 
this  renovation  meant.  Then  reports  got  about 
of  designs  upon  the  authority  of  the  king ;  but  it 
was  Gashmu  who  made  the  mischief  a  finality. 
He  was  the  man  who  knew  most ;  the  man  the 
rest  trusted  to  find  out  what  these  men  were 
about.  He  did  not  go  to  the  reformer  and  ask  to 
see  his  charter.  He  took  counsel  with  his  own 
prejudice  and  preference,  and  made  that  his  foun- 
dation, and  said,  This  is  rebellion,  without  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt,  and  he  is  the  man  who  made 
the  gap.  Gashmu  said  it,  and  we  believe  Gashmu 
rather  than  the  holiest  whispers  of  our  own  na- 
tures, and  stand  apart  in  that  which,  above  aU 
things,  should  bring  us  together.  We  say  it  is  ah1 
wrong  for  the  Switzer  to  prefer  the  mountain,  or 
the  Hollander  the  marsh,  or  the  eagle  the  cliff, 
or  the  skylark  the  sod ;  "  we  distort  our  nature 
ever  for  our  work,  and  count  our  right  hands 
stronger  for  being  hoofs."  We  forget  that, 

"  When  all  is  tried,  all  done,  all  counted  here, 
All  creeds,  sects,  churches,  all  philosophies, 
That  Love  just  puts  his  hand  out  in  a  dream, 
And  straight  outrraches  all  things." 


152  GASHMtJ. 

In  the  churches,  no  doubt,  we  should  all  be 
nearer  and  sweeter  in  Christian  intercourse  but 
for  this  Gashmu,  who  goes  about  blinking  here 
and  there  at  other  sects,  and  asserting  that  wha* 
may  be  so,  is  so  ;  and  Gashinu  said  it,  seals  man* 
an  opening  fountain  of  sweet  Christian  refresh 
ing,  fastens  ingenuous  young  souls  into  a  rigid 
intolerance,  and  builds  fences  between  Chris- 
tian men  so  high,  that  it  is  hopeless  trying  to 
get  over. 

So  again  in  our  social  life,  Gashmu  is  the  curb- 
stone where  all  the  mischief  is  finally  unloaded. 
Little  rumors  of  no  moment,  the  tiny  sparks 
that  are  struck  off  in  the  quick,  hearty  friction 
of  the  daily  life,  need  Gashmu  to  blow  them  into 
smoke  and  fire.  Alone,  they  would  die  out  the 
moment  they  were  struck,  but  when  they  strike 
Gashmu,  there  is  no  dying.  If  it  is  commonly 
reported,  and  Gashmu  said  it,  it  takes  a  strong 
decision  to  say,  the  moment  we  hear  it,  "  That's 
a  lie."  Your  social  Gashmu  means  well  on  his 
own  estimate  of  things,  too ;  his  main  faults  are 
narrowness  and  hastiness,  and  a  strong  tendency 
to  measure  all  men  by  his  own  personal  standard. 
Perhaps  he  is,  on  the  whole,  a  good  man;  lives 


GASHMU.  153 

a  life  that  wins  the  respect  of  a  whole  town ;  tells 
the  truth  so  constantly  that  his  word  is  as  good 
as  gold.  But  some  one  man  does  not  train  with 
him ;  he  does  not  like  that  man  at  all ;  does  not 
understand  him ;  and  so  cultivates  a  little  feeling 
of  dislike,  until  it  bulges  into  a  receptiveness  of 
idle  rumors,  that  would  be  like  mere  straws  if 
they  were  reported  of  a  man  he  loves.  Yet  he 
will  nurse  them,  and  cherish  them,  and  at  some 
moment  his  dislike  will  come  to  a  head,  and  he 
will  say,  "I  have  no  doubt  it  is  true."  Then 
Gashmu  said  it,  clips  that  man's  margin  at  the 
bank,  draws  the  sunshine  out  of  half  the  faces 
he  meets  on  the  street,  and  puts  him  in  a 
position  that,  it  may  be,  brings  the  very  tenden- 
cies for  which  Gashmu  has  spotted  him;  for, 
"  being  observed  where  observation  is  not  sym- 
pathy, is  just  being  tortured."  How  many  grown 
men  and  women  regret  bitterly  to-day  some 
such  misjudgment  on  another,  —  the  hasty  word 
of  a  single  moment,  that  we  could  never  recall 
and  never  atone  for,  by  which  the  life  of  the 
man  or  woman  about  whom  we  said  it  has  been 
darkened  and  injured  past  redemption.  It  was 
a  small  matter  of  itself,  but  Gashmu  said  it,  and 


154 


GASHMU. 


that  was  like  sowing  the  thing  in  black  prairie 
loam,  insuring  to  us  a  harvest  of  bitter  regrets, 
and  to  our  victim  a  harvest  of  bitter  memories. 

Then  we  have  Gashmus  in  the  nation  and  the 
public  lifej  and  Gashmu  said  it,  is  the  most  cer- 
tain seven-barrelled  Springfield  repeater  that  the 
devil  has  in  his  whole  armory.  But  I  warn  you 
here  against  believing  that  this  Gashmu  of  the 
old  heathen  world  is  only  to  be  found  on  the  one 
side.  It  is  impossible  to  study  the  course  of 
public  life,  and  not  conclude  that  he  is  on  all 
sides  of  all  public  questions,  and  is  about  as 
mischievous  on  one  side  as  another.  Gashmu  is 
never  the  man  that  looks  into  things,  and  then 
takes  his  side  and  stands  to  it  for  conscience' 
sake ;  but  the  man  who  speaks  out  of  his  narrow 
heart  and  mind  the  lie  he  wants  to  be  true,  and 
wants  others  to  believe.  I  suppose,  while  there 
is  a  free  and  healthy  government  in  this  or  any 
other  country,  there  will  be  conservatism  and 
radicalism ;  a  party  that  will  hold  on,  as  long  as  it 
can,  to  things  as  they  are,  and  a  party  that  will 
want  to  go  ahead  and  reform  them.  And,  stand- 
ing as  I  have  always  done,  from  pure  choice,  with 
radicals,  I  would  still  try  to  see  the  good  there 


GASHMtT.  155 

ie  in  conservatism,  and  to  respect  men  who  stand 
by  this  conviction,  pleading  that  we  shall  not 
pull  down  the  old  house,  however  rickety  and 
inconvenient  it  may  be,  before  we  are  able  to 
build  a  new  one.  Let  the  conservative  stand 
up  for  time-honored,  and  by  that  I  never  mean 
time-execrated,  institutions  and  charters,  and  he 
deserves  as  well  of  his  country  as  any  other  man 
who  will  make  sacrifices  for  her,  and  defend  and 
help  her  to  the  best  of  his  power. 

But  in  doing  this  on  any  side,  one  great  trouble 
still  is  Gashmu.  I  will  venture  to  say  there  is 
not  a  faithful  man  in  politics  to-day  who  has  only 
the  good  of  the  nation  at  heart,  and  so  will  only 
go  with  his  party  when  his  party  is  right,  who  is 
not  constantly  tormented  by  Gashmu.  One  day 
he  will  slide  a  paragraph  into  a  letter  from  the 
Capitol,  another  day  he  will  put  a  barbed  arrow 
into  the  shape  of  a  local.  Then  you  shall  find 
him  lurking  in  a  leader,  or  in  a  speech  in  Con- 
gress. Gashmu  in  the  nation  breaks  out  every- 
where, and  if  God  did  not  intend  to  save  us  as  a 
nation  with  a  great  salvation,  to  make  our  walls 
strong  and  sure  in  spite  of  him,  and  all  that  go 
in  his  company,  Gashmu  would  be  our  ruin. 


156  GASHMU. 

Now  for  all  this  there  is  the  concluding  ad- 
monition and  encouragement.  And  this,  first  of 
all,  is  clear :  with  all  his  power  and  prestige, 
Gashmu  came  to  nothing  before  this  earnest 
steady  builder  of  waste  places,  and  found  that 
Gashmu  said  it,  was  no  more  avail  to  stop  the 
building,  than  a  pewter  spoon  would  have  been 
to  carry  it  on.  It  was  common  rumor  and 
Gashmu  on  the  one  side,  and  God  and  the  right 
on  the  other ;  and,  alas  for  Gashmu,  when  he  is 
found  fighting  against  God  ! 

And  so  I  would  say  to  every  earnest  man  and 
woman,  keep  true  to  your  task,  whatever  it  be, 
make  your  work  as  good  as  you  can,  put  all  you 
have  into  it,  stand  steadily  by  it,  and  never  mind 
Gashmu.  He  may  annoy  you,  he  cannot  hurt 
you;  he  may  hinder  you,  he  cannot  stop  you. 
It  is  no  matter  what  you  may  be  doing,  —  if  you 
are  faithfully  at  work,  trying  to  do  good,  there 
will  be  a  Gashmu  somewhere,  who  will  say  what 
he  can  against  you.  All  you  can  do,  and  all  you 
have  to  do,  is  to  work  on  silently,  and  trust  to 
God,  and  never  mind  Gashmu. 

Secondly,  when  Gashmu  comes,  and  begins  to 
say  this  and  that  to  annoy  you,  do  not  come  down 


GASHMU.  157 

to  talk  to  him.  If  he  wants  to  revile  you,  let 
him;  the  day  will  be  sure  to  declare  which  is 
right.  Common  report  may  say  wheat  is  chaff, 
and  Gashmu  may  confirm  it,  as  he  did  about  this 
honest  Hebrew.  But  when  the  wheat  is  once 
cast  into  the  ground,  and  the  kindly  earth  folds 
it  to  her  breast,  and  the  sweet  rains  drop  down 
from  heaven  upon  it,  and  the  sun  wakens  ah1  the 
pulses  of  the  summer  about  it,  then  you  wih1  see, 
"  first  the  blade,  then  the  ear,  and  after  that  the 
full  corn,"  and  God  will  be  true  and  Gashmu  a 
liar. 

Then,  if  you  come  across  Gashmu  in  the  church, 
or  in  society,  or  in  any  way  whatever,  keep  out 
of  his  way  as  much  as  you  can  —  have  nothing  to 
say  to  him.  There  are  plenty  of  men  and  women, 
wherever  you  go,  who  will  be  glad  to  meet  you 
and  tell  the  truth,  and  let  other  people  alone; 
who  will  respect  your  nature  in  religion,  and 
your  character  in  life,  and  wih1  never  think  to  do 
the  truth  good  service  by  a  lie ;  who  will  say  to 
you,  the  church  in  which  you  can  get  and  do 
the  most  good^  is  the  best  church,  whatever  be 
its  name.  No  church  can  satisfy  all.  Gashmu 
has  no  more  right  to  interfere  with  the  church 


158  GASHMU. 

you  shall  go  to  than  he  has  to  interfere  with  the 
state  yon  shall  go  to.  And  I  venture  to  say  that 
when  this  is  once  accepted  generally,  in  the 
church  and  out  of  it,  Gashmu  will  be  voted  a 
nuisance,  and  put  down. 

Then  let  us  take  care  that  we  are  not  as  Gash- 
mu. It  is  one  of  the  most  subtle  and  dangerous 
sins  I  know  of.  I  do  not  know  of  any  profession 
that  is  not  guilty.  Gashmu s  among  ministers, 
merchants,  lawyers,  doctors,  mechanics,  and 
men  generally,  and  women,  too,  are  plenty  as 
blackberries.  I  have  seen  him  in  all  sorts  of  so- 
cial parties.  I  have  even  imagined  I  detected 
him  in  the  church  meeting.  The  danger  is,  he 
is  so  plausible,  and  seems  so  right,  so  concerned 
for  the  good  of  Zion,  that,  like  the  old  giant  in 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  he  spoils  young  pilgrims 
with  sophistry.  Let  all  young  pilgrims  look  out 
lest  they  fall  into  his  snare,  and  become  like  him 
in  his  vile  calling;  and  let  them  watch  what 
weight  there  is  to  the  word  he  says  about  the 
man  or  the  thing  he  dislikes,  for  to  be  like  Gash- 
mu is  to  be  one  of  the  most  pitiful  and  paltry  of 
men. 

Finally,  we  must  pity  Gashmu ;   for,  after  all, 


GASHMU.  159 

like  all  men  who  do  wrong,  he  was  finally  the 
greater  sufferer.  There  was,  on  that  September 
morning,  for  all  we  know,  a  decent  man  who 
might  rest,  when  his  little  life  was  ended,  as  qui- 
etly as  his  fathers  were  resting  in  the  old  Assyr- 
ian hills.  Yet  before  nightfall  he  had  said  a  few 
words  that  have  impaled  him  on  the  lonely  peak 
of  twenty-two  centuries,  in  an  awful  solitude,  of 
warning  to  every  man  who  will  not  consider  the 
eternal  sacredness  of  the  words  he  may  be  saying 
about  another,  and  their  long  and  deep  duration. 
He  told  a  lie,  in  his  narrow  prejudice,  against 
a  good  man  who  was  doing  a  good  work  for  his 
country,  his  church,  and  his  race,  and  now  he 
can  never  rest.  The  Bible,  that  chains  him  fast 
to  this  everlasting  damnation,  has  been  sometimes 
almost  lost  out  of  the  world,  buried  in  seclusion, 
hidden  in  mountains,  and  caves,  and  dens.  It  has 
been  found  again,  printed,  translated  into  every 
tongue,  and  is  read  to-day,  as  the  earth  wheels 
round  the  sun,  by  untold  millions  of  men  and  wo- 
men. Wherever  one  holds  a  Bible,  he  can  get  at 
this  story,  how  Gashmu  lied  when  he  could  have 
told  the  truth,  and  is  convicted  before  all  the 
ages  and  all  the  angels  j  is  the  real  Wandering 


160  GASHMU. 

Jew  unable  to  die.  Need  I  say,  then,  do  not 
try  to  be  avenged  on  Gashmu.  Vengeance 
is  mine,  saith  the  Lord ;  I  will  repay.  Surely 
there  is  no  man  who  will  not  rest  his  course 
with  God  after  such  an  example  as  this,  and  in- 
stead of  the  bitterness  we  all  feel  when  we  are 
so  wronged  by  Gashmu,  pity  the  hapless  fate  of 
the  wrong-doers,  and  cry,  as  one  cried  who  was 
wronged  as  we  never  can  be,  —  "  Father,  forgive 
them ;  they  know  not  what  they  do." 


VIII. 

STORMING   HEAVEN. 

LUKE  xi.  5-10 :  "  And  he  said  unto  them,  Which  of  you  shall 
liare  a  friend,  and  shall  go  unto  him  at  midnight,  and  say 
unto  him,  Friend,  lend  me  three  loaves ;  for  a  friend  of 
mine  in  his  journey  is  come  to  me,  and  I  have  nothing  to 
set  before  him  ?  And  he  from  within  shall  answer  and  say, 
Trouble  me  not ;  the  door  is  now  shut,  and  my  children  are 
with  me  in  bed ;  I  cannot  rise  and  give  thee.  I  say  unto 
you,  Though  he  will  not  rise  and  give  him,  because  he  is 
his  friend,  yet  because  of  his  importunity  he  will  rise  and 
give  him  as  many  as  he  needeth.  And  I  say  unto  you,  Ask, 
and  it  shall  be  given  you ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find ;  knock, 
and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you.  For  every  one  that  ask- 
eth,  receiveth ;  and  he  that  seeketh,  findeth ;  and  to  him  that 
knock e th,  it  shall  be  opened." 

THE  text,  in  connection  with  what  precedes  it, 
seems  singular.  When  Jesus  had  been  praying 
in  a  certain  place,  his  disciples  came  to  him,  and 
eaid, "  Lord,  teach  us  to  pray ; "  and  he  taught  them 
the  Lord's  Prayer.  But  when  he  had  done  this, 
he  goes  on  to  speak  to  them  in  a  parable  that 
seems  to  cast  a  new  light  on  some  of  these  rela- 
tions of  man  to  God  that  are  to  be  affected  through 
11  161 


162  STOKMING  HEAVEN. 

this  mysterious  agency.  For,  instead  of  repre- 
senting the  divine  nature  as  so  open  and  tremu- 
lous to  our  cry  that  it  needs  not  even  a  whisper 
when  we  pray,  but  can  hear  our  sighing  and  -  be 
stirred  by  our  longing,  it  is  opened  to  us  here  as 
if  wrapped  in  a  slumber  heavy  as  midnight,  and 
only  to  be  awakened  by  our  persistent  and  most 
urgent  endeavor. 

In  all  the  words  of  the  Messiah  which  we  pos- 
sess, there  is  but  one  other  parable  touching  the 
same  principle.  It  is  where  the  widow  comes,  in 
her  helplessness,  to  the  unjust  judge,  who  neither 
fears  God  nor  regards  man,  and  cries,  "  Avenge 
me  of  mine  adversary."  He  has  no  mind  to  listen 
to  her  cry ;  she  is  the  embodiment  of  all  helpless- 
ness ;  there  is  no  eloquence  in  her  words,  no  gift 
in  her  hands,  and  no  reason  in  the  world  why  he 
should  attend  to  her,  except  her  simple  persist- 
ence in  urging  her  claim:  but  that  carries  the 
day  against  every  obstacle.  Her  continual  cry 
for  what  she  has  a  right  to  seek  has  in  it  a  touch 
of  omnipotence ;  so  he  gives  that  to  importunity 
he  would  not  give  as  a  duty  or  a  right. 

The  first  feeling  we  have  about  the  matter  is, 
either  that  there  has  been  some  mistake  in  the 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  163 

way  these  parables  are  reported,  or  that  it  is  hope- 
less for  us  to  try  to  understand  them.  We  say,  this 
householder  asleep  at  midnight !  What  can  this 
mean  ?  I  think  the  meaning  is,  that  Jesus  would 
teach  us  in  this  way  what  we  are  learning  in 
many  other  ways  —  that  the  best  things  in  the  di- 
vine life,  as  in  the  natural,  will  not  come  to  us 
merely  for  the  asking ;  that  true  prayer  is  the 
whole  strength  of  the  whole  man  going  out  after 
his  needs,  and  the  real  secret  of  getting  what 
you  want  in  heaven,  as  on  earth,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  you  give  your  whole  heart  for  it,  or  you 
cannot  adequately  value  it  when  you  get  it.  So, 
"  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you ;  seek,  and  you 
shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto 
you,"  means,  Put  out  all  your  energies,  as  if 
you  had  to  waken  heaven  out  of  a  midnight  slum- 
ber, or  an  indifference  like  that  of  the  unjust 
judge. 

This  I  conceive  to  have  been  the  meaning  of 
Christ  in  the  parable ;  and  it  touches  something 
in  our  life  we  seldom  adequately  consider,  namely, 
what  I  would  call  the  indifference  of  God  to  any- 
thing less  than  tlje  best  there  is  in  man  —  the 
determination  of  Heaven,  if  I  may  say  so,  not  to 


164  STORMING  HEAVEN. 

hear  what  we  are  not  determined  Heaven  shall 
hear.  So  calling  out  the  faculty  that  lies  hidden 
in  our  nature,  to  answer  to  another  deep  word  of 
this  great  Teacher,  "  The  kingdom  of  heaven  suf- 
fereth  violence,  and  the  violent  take  it  by  force ;  " 
and  any  adequate  answer  to  our  cry  of,  "  Let  thy 
kingdom  come,"  must  greatly  lie  in  our  power  to 
bring  in  the  kingdom. 

We  can  see  this  principle  at  work,  if  we  will, 
first  in  nature.  It  fills  the  whole  distance  between 
the  paradise  of  the  first  pair  and  this  common 
earth  as  we  find  it  to-day.  In  that  old  Eden, 
there  was  no  barrier  between  the  longing  and  its 
answer,  and  no  effort  needed  to  bring  the  answer, 
except  the  longing.  The  kindly,  easy,  effortless 
life  went  on,  we  suppose,  as  life  might  have  gone 
on  in  the  Sandwich  Islands  before  Cook  discov- 
ered them,  had  their  inhabitants  possessed  the 
secret  of  how  to  live,  in  addition  to  their  perfect 
climate,  and  the  daily  bread  that  came  almost 
without  the  asking. 

In  this  life  of  ours,  however,  there  is  no  such 
answer  to  our  natural  cry  for  what  we  need. 
The  need  may  be,  in  its  way,  divine,  and  the 
longing  as  divine  as  the  need;  but  before  they 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  165 

can  come  to  their  full  fruition,  barriers  have 
to  be  broken  down  that  seem  to  have  been 
put  there  by  Heaven  itself.  There  is  always  a 
divine  inertness  and  hinderance  to  be  overcome 
before  we  can  come  to  what  is  more  divine 
than  that  which  we  possess. 

I  can  remember  nothing  in  my  childhood, 
for  instance,  of  a  deeper  interest  than  the 
stories  I  used  to  read  of  hapless  travellers  cross- 
ing the  Alps,  and  being  overtaken  by  the  storm 
and  lost,  of  their  rescue  by  the  great  sagacious 
dogs  and  their  masters,  and  their  restoration  to 
life ;  and  the  old  interest  was  still  so  strong  in 
1865,  that  when  I  came  to  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
great  passes  which  I  had  no  time  to  cross,  I  lin- 
gered about  it  with  an  almost  tireless  interest. 

But  I  went  to  see  also  the  new  railroad  they 
are  making  by  a  tunnel  through  Mount  Cenis, 
that  shall  do  away  forever  with  the  hardship 
and  danger  of  the  passes  over  the  mountains, 
•and  open  up  a  new  and  living  way  between 
Switzerland  and  Italy.  And  there  I  caught,  I 
think,  the  first  hint  of  this  barrier  thrown  up 
by  Heaven  across  its  own  highways.  For  in 
spite  of  the  bemoanings  of  Mr.  Ruskin  about 


166  STORMING   HEAVEN. 

desecrating  the  holy  shrines  of  these  lakes  and 
mountains  with  the  scream  of  the  locomotive, 
and  the  careless  tread  of  the  multitude  on  their 
cheap  trip,  I  can  imagine  no  comparison  be- 
tween such  a  road  and  the  old  track  over  their 
crests  that  does  not  prove  the  railroad  the  more 
heavenly  way,  in  safety  to  life,  in  salvation  from 
suffering,  in  economy  of  time,  in  closeness  of 
intercourse,  in  facility  for  seeing  whatever  is 
most  glorious  on  either  side,  in  opening  the 
pages  of  that  poem  of  the  world  to  the  million, 
that  until  now  has  been  closed  to  all  but  the  few. 
The  railroad  is  beyond  all  comparison  the  better 
and  diviner  way. 

But  the  moment  the  nations  began  to  long  for 
such  a  road,  the  barriers  against  it  began  to 
appear.  The  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  he  made 
it;  but  for  such  a  railroad  he  made  no  pro- 
vision beyond  this,  —  that  no  man  can  touch  or 
weigh  or  measure  the  determination  of  some 
men  that  there  shall  be  one.  "  Let  us  have  a. 
railroad,"  they  say ;  and  then  they  go  to  work, 
with  the  geometries  that  are  a  part  of  the  order 
of  the  universe,  to  find  the  way.  They  trace 
it  along  the  old  natural  levels,  and  it  would  seem 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  167 

as  if  they  were  made  to  be  an  answer  to  this 
prayer ;  but  then  at  last  they  come  to  the  moun- 
tain, to  the  great  inert  divine  hinderance,  as 
immovable  as  the  midnight  slumber  on  the  un- 
willing heart.  "  We  want  a  railroad  into  Italy," 
cries  the  world,  "  and  can  go  no  farther  for  this 
mountain.  What  shall  we  do  to  find  a  way  ? " 
"  There  is  no  way,"  Heaven  answers,  "  except  to 
your  persistency;  but  if  you  seek,  you  shall  find ; 
if  you  knock,  it  shall  be  opened  to  you."  And 
so  the  seeking  of  the  answer  to  that  prayer  of 
the  nations  is  intrusted  to  the  keen  sight  of 
men  whose  searching  will  never  tire  until  the 
way  is  found.  The  knocking  is  with  hard  steel 
at  the  hard  rock,  and  it  is  only  a  question  of 
persistence  and  of  endurance ;  then  at  last  it  has 
come  to  pass  that  even  the  heart  of  the  unwill- 
ing mountain  is  won,  and  its  midnight  sleep 
driven  away ;  and  where  for  countless  ages  there 
has  been  only  an  utter  and  unutterable  silence, 
there  is  now  the  mighty  response  of  an  an- 
swered prayer  in  the  thunder  of  the  locomotive. 
We  touch  this  principle  again  in  a  more 
personal  way  when  we  observe  this  striving  in 
the  experiences  of  men.  Not  to  mention  at  this 


168  STORMING   HEAVEN. 

moment  what  is  most  purely  spiritual  in  these 
conflicts,  there  is  deep  instruction  in  watching 
how  some  man  is  moved  to  do  some  thing  that 
is  to  bless  the  world  in  a  new  and  wonderful 
way  when  it  is  done;  but  between  the  con- 
ception and  the  conclusion  there  are  mighty 
barriers,  that  only  the  uttermost  might  of  what 
is  indeed  a  divine  persistence  can  finally  over- 
come. It  flashes  on  the  soul  with  something  of 
the  nature  of  a  revelation  when  it  is  done. 
Men  say  he  must  have  been  inspired  to  do  it. 
Its  blessing  is  so  clear  that  we  can  almost  see 
the  shining  track  on  which  it  has  come  from  God 
to  man.  It  would  be  natural  to  think  then  the 
way  must  be  clear  between  the  conception  and 
execution  of  such  a  thing,  not  only  because  of 
the  nobility  of  the  thing  itself,  but  of  the  urgent 
need  of  it  among  men.  Yet  the  new  child  is 
still  laid  in  the  manger,  and  has  to  struggle  in 
the  long  lapse  between  the  birth  and  the  bap- 
tism through  the  hinderance  of  its  Nazareth, 
while  the  world  must  wait  and  want  until  all 
the  barriers  in  the  way  of  its  coming  are  broken 
down. 

How  strikingly  —  to  take  what  is  right  at  our 


STORMING    HEAVEX.    .  169 

hand  —  this  has  been  brought  home  to  us  in  the 
wonderful  history  of  the  perfecting  of  India- 
rubber  !  Delicately  winning  its  way  into  the  most 
essential  arts  and  uses  of  life,  no  mean  agent 
in  our  new  civilization,  so  indispensable  is  it, 
now  we  have  learned  its  use,  that  if  it  should 
be  suddenly  taken  away,  it  would  leave  a  great 
gap  in  our  commonwealth,  and  shorten  the  aver- 
ages of  human  life.  I  know  of  nothing  more 
impressive  in  the  line  of  my  thought  than  that 
long  prayer,  as  I  must  call  it,  of  the  inventor,  by 
which  at  last  he  won  the  unlistening  heavens 
over  to  his  side.  With  a  faith  in  the  thing  he 
wanted  to  do,  teachers  of  religion  might  well 
imitate ;  with  as  little  care  for  the  mere  wealth 
that  might  come  of  his  discovery  as  a  man  could 
well  feel;  consecrating  every  power  and  every 
penny  he  could  command  to  the  one  great  pur- 
pose ;  counted  a  madman  by  the  sensible,  easy- 
going world  about  him,  that  could  neither  feel 
the  burden  of  his  soul,  nor  win  its  reward, — the 
story  of  the  way  in  which  he  persisted,  year 
after  year,  in  broken  health  and  utter  poverty, 
and  what  was  worse  than  starvation  for  himself, 
in  wrestling  with  the  silent  and  seemingly  dumb 


170  STORMING  HEAVEN. 

heavens  for  their  revelations,  is  one  of  the  most 
touching  things  in  the  history  of  our  human 
life. 

There  was  the  blessing  ah1  the  time  hidden  in 
the  heart  of  Providence.  What  the  thing  is  now 
with  us,  we  cannot  but  believe  it  was  then 
with  God.  But  what  the  world  believed  in  old 
time,  as  it  dwelt  within  the  shadows  of  a  cruel 
superstition,  still  comes  true  to  us,  as  we  dwell 
in  the  clear  daylight  of  the  divine  law,  —  that 
when  a  man  will  win  some  mighty  blessing 
for  his  fellow-men,  the  blessing  can  only  come 
at  the  cost  of  his  most  precious  blood  :  he 
must  not  grow  weary  ;  he  must  weary  that 
which  holds  the  secret.  Let  him  give  up  his 
search  too  soon,  let  him  knock  too  seldom,  the 
householder  will  not  rise ;  the  bread  will  not  be 
given.  The  only  comfort  there  is,  —  and  it  is 
the  only  one  we  need,  —  is  this,  that  when  once 
a  man  casts  his  whole  manhood  into  the  thing 
God  has  stirred  him  up  to  seek,  he  never  does 
knock  too  often ;  but  if  he  must,  he  dies  knock- 
ing, and  then  leaves  another  at  the  door. 

They  knocked  more  than  two  hundred  years 
for  the  locomotive  before  the  door  was  opened, 


STORMING  HEAVEN.  171 

and  if  you  have  read  this  history  of  Mr.  Good- 
year, to  which  T  have  referred,  you  will  remem- 
ber how  at  last  the  full  revelation  of  the  secret 
came  in  a  flash,  as  when  the  diamond  seeker 
watches  for  the  sudden  sheen  of  his  treasure  be- 
tween the  sand  and  the  sun.  But  it  was  the  eye 
that  had  been  seeking  patiently,  persistently,  and 
steadily  through  these  long  years  that  found  the 
treasure,  as  when  the  apple  fell ;  if  we  had  been 
there,  we  should  have  seen  an  apple  fall  where 
Newton  saw  the  whole  order  of  the  suns  and 
stars,  because  he  had  been  wearying  heaven  night 
and  day  for  years  to  open  her  doors  to  his  be- 
seeching about  that  matter. 

And  if  we  leave  these  semi-material  things,  and 
consider  what  is,  perhaps,  more  purely  in  the 
line  of  the  parable,  it  is  only  to  see  still  more 
certainly  how  certain  is  this  matter  of  the  un- 
listening  ear  and  unwilling  heart  of  Providence 
in  the  experiences  of  the  noblest  and  best.  The 
whole  history  of  man,  in  his  higher  relations  to 
God,  is  the  history  of  a  struggle  through  the  most 
disheartening  and  perplexing  hinderances  into  the 
light  and  life  in  which  the  soul  so  led  can  break 
the  bread  of  life  to  others.  The  truth  the  man 


172  STORMING   HEAVEN, 

has  to  tell,  he  has  first  to  win  at  a  cost  which 
leaves  nothing  else  of  any  worth  by  comparison, 
and  then  his  very  life  is  cheerfully  given,  if  need 
be,  rather  than  the  truth  shall  fail. 

I  will  venture  to  say,  there  is  not  a  supreme 
man  of  God,  in  any  time,  or  race,  or  religion, 
whose  power  may  not  be  understood  better  by 
this  test  than  by  any  other  we  can  find  ;  sent 
into  the  world,  with  the  purpose  he  finally  fulfils 
folded  within  his  soul ;  inspired  from  above  to 
enter  on  his  work ;  sealed  when  his  work  is  done, 
and  set  fast  forever  among  the  prophets  and 
apostles  of  the  race,  you  shall  always  find  that 
there  is  a  time  stretching  often  over  a  long  span 
of  years  in  which  the  man  had  to  strive  and  pray, 
to  weary  Heaven  by  his  incessant  beseeching, 
until  at  last,  perhaps,  when  it  became  a  ques- 
tion with  those  who  were  aware  of  the  contest, 
whether  Heaven  should  hear  or  the  man  should 
die,  the  heart  of  the  great  secret  is  won,  the 
angel  says, "  Thou  shalt  be  called  no  longer  Jacob, 
but  Israel,  because  thou  hast  wrestled  with  God 
and  prevailed ;  "  and  then,  in  the  strength  of  his 
well-won  blessing,  he  is  forever  after  set  among 
the  great  ones  of  the  world. 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  173 

But  the  truth  was  as  true  before  the  man  was 
born,  as  it  is  when  he  is  like  to  die  in  his  strug- 
gle to  pluck  it  out  of  the  silence  in  which  it  is 
hidden.  Descartes  and  Kepler  did  not  set  the 
heavens  in  the  order  they  almost  died  to  dis- 
cover; justification  by  faith  was  as  true  when 
Luther  was  singing  his  Christmas  hymns  as 
when  he  was  worn  away  with  the  misery  of  his 
crying,  "  How  shall  man  be  just  with  God  ?  "  The 
loaves  are.  there  ;  the  whole  secret  is  in  the  win- 
ning, and  in  why  they  have  to  be  so  won,  as  the 
hills  and  valleys  of  Canaan  were  standing  in  the 
clear  sunshine  through  all  that  forty  years  Israel 
was  wading  wearily  through  the  desert  towards 
them. 

So,  then,  we  come,  through  these  illustrations 
of  this  principle  in  our  life,  to  some  lessons  which 
we  shall  all  do  well  to  learn ;  and  I  cannot  mention 
one  before  this:  that  instead  of  a  prayer  being 
something  we  can  say  easily  at  any  time  and  be 
done  with,  can  read  out  of  a  book,  or  have  said 
for  us  by  a  minister,  —  in  the  most  sacred  and 
essential  sense,  a  true  prayer  must  be  the  deep- 
est and  most  painful  thing  a  man  can  possibly  do : 
may  be  so  costly  that  he  will  give  up,  without  a 
murmur,  his  very  life,  before  he  will  give  up  that 


174  STORMIXG  HEAVEtf. 

which  his  prayer  has  wrested,  as  it  were,  out  of 
the  heart  of  the  heavens  ;  and  it  may  be  so  pro- 
tracted, that  twenty  years  shall  not  suffice  to 
say  it. 

For  prayer,  in  its  purest  reality,  is  first  the  cry 
of  the  soul  to  God  for  his  gift,  and  then  it  is  the 
effort  of  the  soul  to  make  as  sure  of  what  it  longa 
for,  as  if  it  were  to  come  by  its  own  winning.  It 
is  something  in  which  the  words  we  say  are  often 
of  the  smallest  possible  consequence, .  and  only 
our  unconquerable  persistence  under  God  is 
omnipotent.  And  that  this  longing  and  striving, 
as  shadowed  out  in  the  parable,  should  be  so  pain- 
ful and  protracted,  is  only  a  wonder  when  we  lose 
sight  of  the  revelations  made  to  us  in  almost 
every  other  direction. 

I  went  once  to  see  the  Cathedral  at  Cologne. 
It  is  the  most  wonderful  blossoming  of  Gothic 
art  on  the  planet.  Hundreds  of  years  ago  some 
man,  now  forgotten,  found  it  all  in  his  heart,  and 
longed  to  make  it  visible  in  stone.  But  because 
it  was  so  great  and  good,  when  the  man  died  his 
work  was  still  unfinished  ;  it  was  still  unfinished 
when  his  name  was  forgotten ;  at  last,  even  the 
design  of  it  was  lost,  and  it  seemed  as  if  there 
was  no  hope  that  the  Cathedral  would  ever  be 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  175 

done.  But  when  Napoleon  went  storming  through 
Europe,  his  marshals  lighted  on  the  old  design, 
hidden  in  some  dusty  corner  of  a  monastery ;  so  it 
got  back  again  to  Cologne,  and  when  I  was  there, 
all  Germany  was  interested  in  finishing  the  noble 
idea. 

Now,  since  that  church  was  begun,  thousands 
of  churches  have  risen  and  fallen  in  Germany, 
and  no  trace  of  them  is  left ;  but  because  the 
Dome  Kirch  is  the  grandest  thing  in  its  way  that 
was  ever  done  in  stone,  or  ever  conceived  in  a 
soul,  two  things  follow :  there  must  be  a  mighty 
span  between  the  conception  and  the  consumma- 
tion, a  striving  through  dark  days  and  fearful 
hinderances  to  build  it,  and,  at  the  same  time,  an 
indestructible  vitality  in  the  idea,  like  that  which 
has  attended  it.  It  is  but  a  shadow  of  this  great 
fact  concerning  our  spiritual  life.  The  very 
worth  of  what  we  ask  for  from  the  heavens,  be- 
cause it  is  so  worthy,  is  the  deepest  reason  there 
is  why  the  blessing  cannot  come  until  the  full, 
time  —  until  it  has  had  its  own  time. 

It  is,  therefore,  no  reason  why  a  man  earnestly 
engaged  in  a  true  reform  in  the  ideas  or  the 
conduct  of  life,  should  become  disheartened,  and 


176  STORMING  HEAVEN. 

think  of  giving  up,  when  the  thing,  being  in  his 
opinion  a  matter  of  such  supreme  importance  to 
mankind,  and  so  verily  a  truth  of  God,  does  not 
win  its  way  more  rapidly  or  receive  more  open 
marks  of  the  divine  favor,  but  has  to  labor  under 
every  possible  disadvantage,  and  be  as  if  the 
heart  of  Heaven  was  unwilling  to  recognize  its 
claim.  It  is  probable  that  in  exact  proportion  to 
the  worth  of  the  thing  will  be  the  strife  for  the 
place  it  must  finally  take,  and  the  work  it  must 
finally  do ;  and  this,  not  that  Heaven  "is  on  the 
other  side  or  indifferent,  but  it  will  make  full 
proof  of  those  who  are  to  be  intrusted  with  the 
mighty  interest,  and  make  the  worth  of  the  in- 
terest clear. 

And  so  the  principle  I  have  noticed  in  the  life 
of  the  reformer,  is  to  be  noticed  also  of  every  great 
reform :  it  has  to  wait,  and  work  its  way  persist- 
ently through  the  most  determined  opposition  j 
through  times  in  which  there  is  no  encourage- 
ment at  all,  except  that  which  is  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  are  devoted  to  it,  who  know  right  well 
if  they  ask,  and  seek,  and  knock,  and  do  not  tire, 
but  keep  right  on,  then,  as  sure  as  there  is  an  eter- 
nal right,  the  wrong  will  be  at  last  conquered, 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  177 

and  Heaven  will  be  won  to  give  what  they  shall 
not  be  weary  asking.  Then,  for  reform  and  re- 
former alike,  will  come  the  answer  to  the  prayer 
of  the  old  apostle,  "  The  God  of  all  grace,  who 
hath  called  you  nnto  his  eternal  glory  after  that 
ye  have  suffered  awhile,  establish,  strengthen, 
settle  you,  and  make  you  perfect." 

And  so  it  must  be  with  those  reforms  in  which 
we  take  an  interest  in  these  days :  the  reform 
in  religious  ideas,  by  which  we  are  all  at  last 
to  come  to  the  unity  of  spirit  in  the  bond 
of  peace ;  to  one  Lord,  one  faith,  and  one  bap- 
tism: or  the  woman  question,  in  which  simple 
natural  justice  will  take  the  place  of  the  pre- 
scriptions and  miserable  unfairness  of  the  old 
ages:  or  intemperance,  in  which  the  common- 
wealth is  not  now  ashamed  to  be  implicated  in 
licensing  what  works  more  ruin  than  every  other 
course  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge :  or 
this  labor  question,  in  which,  as  yet,  the  one  side 
is  tyrant  now,  and  then  the  other,  and  each  seeks 
only  its  own ;  as  if  the  relation  between  man  and 
man  was  a  great  tumor  of  human  selfishness. 
These  and  all  other  questions  assuming  in  these 
days  a  vital  importance  are  touched  by  the  para- 
12 


178  STORMING   HEAVEN. 

ble.  In  the  long  span  that  they  must  take  be- 
tween the  conception  and  the  consummation, 
Heaven  will  seem  to  be  dead  to  the  cry  of  those 
that  hold  them  in  their  hearts ;  but  they  can  be 
sure,  as  if  victory  had  crowned  their  banners, 
that  when  the  full  time  has  come,  then  will  come 
the  full  answer  to  their  cry,  and  not  one  grain 
of  what  is  locked  fast  in  God's  truth  and  right- 
eousness of  the  thing  they  strive  for  can  ever 
be  lost  out  of  the  good  endeavor. 

So,  once  more,  when  we  remember  that  this 
life  each  man  and  woman  is  living,  is  to  the  liver 
by  far  the  most  precious  thing  he  can  have  to 
do  with;  how  its  experiences,  lessons*  and  re- 
sults enter  into  the  very  substance  of  the  soul ; 
we  must  not  wonder  if  some  things  we  have 
at  heart  do  not  come  to  pass  so  readily  as  we 
may  think  they  ought,  being  so  surely  the  gift 
of  Heaven,  but  lag  and  linger  after  all  our 
longing,  and  the  endeavor  which  is  in  itself  a 
prayer,  as  if  Heaven  is  determined  indeed  we 
shall  not  have  them,  or  is  deaf  to  our  cry.  It 
is  possible  in  the  light  of  the  lessons  I  have 
tried  to  draw,  not  from  the  parable  alone,  but 
from  the  deep  and  constant  facts  of  life  that 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  179 

come  up  and  range  themselves  about  the  para- 
ble, that  the  very  magnitude  and  worth  of  the 
thing  we  want  may  be  the  reason  why  it  is  de- 
layed, as  well  as  that  the  things  which  come  into 
our  possession  in  waiting  for  it  and  striving  for 
it,  are  quite  as  good  to  have  and  to  hold  as  the 
thing  itself. 

The  young  man  strives  for  what  we  call  suc- 
cess in  life ;  by  which  we  mean,  too  often,  money 
enough  to  be  independent  of  any  of  those  sur- 
prises of  a  good  Providence  which  always  fall 
to  the  lot  of  the  poor,  earnest,  struggling  man, 
and  a  position  in  which  he  can  stand,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  like  to  the  golden  image  the  king 
set  up  in  the  plains  of  Dura.  But  let  it  be  a 
real  success  the  young  man  aims  at  —  the  success 
of  being  most  useful  and  powerful  for  good  ;  the 
thing  he  seeks  may  still  be  delayed  by  its  very 
magnitude  and  excellence. 

There  is  a  fine  illustration  of  this  in  one  nota- 
ble family  that  sprang  up  not  far  from  the  place 
where  I  was  born.  Long  ago  the  fore-elders  were 
small  farmers,  but  four  generations  back  the  man 
of  that  time  began  to  feel  after  a  better  place  — 
to  knock  at  the  door  of  heaven  for  a  rise.  When 


180  STORMING  HEAVEN. 

he  died  he  had  a  little  spinning  interest  and  a 
well-grown  son  who  built  up,  bit  by  bit,  through 
a  long  life  and  many  hard  fortunes,  the  idea  he 
had  derived  from  his  father.  In  the  third  genera- 
tion the  effort  had  come  to  be  a  splendid  suc- 
cess, and  in  the  fourth  it  culminated,  probably, 
in  a  man  who  with  wealth  and  education  had 
a  noble  native  power  that  had  been  growing 
gradually  ever  since  that  great-grandsire  felt 
moved  to  knock  and  ask  for  something  better 
than  to  cultivate  a  hungry  Lancashire  upland. 
This  man  in  his  day  rendered  a  service  to  Eng- 
land second  to  none.  He  was 

"  The  statesman  in  the  council  set, 

Who  knew  the  seasons,  when  to  take 
Occasion  by  the  hand,  and  make 
The  bounds  of  freedom  wider  yet." 

And  so,  J  think,  if  the  eldest  of  all,  in  his  grim 
struggle  to  get  the  blessing  of  success  —  for  a 
real,  healthy  success  is  a  blesfling  —  could  have 
seen  the  youngest  standing  at  the  helm,  and 
guiding  the  ship  of  state  through  some  of  her 
most  dangerous  passages,  and  then  could  have 
seen  how  the  great  qualities  that  made  him  so 
eminent  had  not  come  by  a  mere  chance,  but 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  181 

were  intimately  interlocked  with  all  the  good 
fights  the  whole  ancestry  had  fought  against 
what  seemed  to  them  often  to  be  an  inert  or  un- 
willing Providence,  he  would  have  been  satisfied 
that  this  whole  four-fold  life,  being  in  a  deep 
sense  also  one  life,  should  be  perfected  in  this 
Sir  Robert. 

So,  if  God  visits  the  sins,  he  also  visits  the 
holiness,  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children,  unto 
the  third  and  fourth  generation.  Let  no  man, 
therefore,  striving  hard  to  succeed,  but  held  back 
by  hinderance,  conclude  that  a  poor  mite  of  this 
world's  wealth  is  all  that  he  is  to  get  out  of  the 
endeavor.  It  is  as  certain  as  anything  can  be, 
that  one  or  more  of  those  children  about  his 
knees,  who  already  know  something  of  his  heart- 
sickness,  are  feeling  afresh  the  power  to  knock 
which  may  be  failing  in  himself,  and  what  he 
cannot  give  them  in  a  banker's  balance,  will  still 
come  to  them  in  a  wealth  that  is  infinitely  better, 
—  the  wealth  of  a  clear  head,  and  a  strong  heart, 
and  a  divine  persistence  in  seeking  what  it  is  his 
hunger  and  thirst  to  find. 

My  heart  would  be  heavy,  sometimes,  did  I 
not  believe  that  my  own  good  father,  whose  ut- 


182  STORMING   HEAVEN. 

most  endeavor  could  never  carry  him  beyond 
the  anvil,  —  at  which  he  fell  down  dead  from 
overwork  many  years  ago,  —  is  aware,  as  he 
abides  in  the  rest  that  remains  for  all  weary  men 
and  women,  how  the  children  for  whom  he  cared, 
and  wrought,  and  died,  had  come  into  possession 
of  what  is  better  than  the  money  he  could  never 
save,  —  the  life,  good  and  true  he  lived  for  their 
sakes,  and  gave  for  their  blessing. 

It  is  to  me  one  of  the  most  cruel  and  inhu- 
man things  that  is  ever  done,  to  make  a  man  an 
outcast  from  Christian  society  and  sympathy, 
who,  sincerely  seeking  to  know  the  truth  about 
God,  and  the  soul,  and  immortal  life,  still  has  to 
tell  us  he  cannot  believe  it;  that,  after  all  he 
can  do,  these  things  are  all  in  the  dark,  the  doors 
will  not  open,  the  treasure  is  still  hidden  away, 
the  gift  of  God  still  held  back  after  all  his  knock- 
ing and  cries.  The  time  will  come,  as  the  Lord 
liveth,  when  such  men  and  women  will  com- 
mand the  deepest  sympathy  and  tenderness  re- 
ligion has  to  give.  When,  instead  of  the  church 
casting  them  out  beyond  her  borders,  she  will 
gather  them  into  her  very  heart ;  will  learn  what 
this  meant  which  her  great  Captain  said,  "  The 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  183 

Son  of  man  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which 
was  lost." 

It  is  not  so  now ;  and  yet  to  men  and  women 
with  such  doubts,  I  say,  the  very  magnitude  and 
worth  of  the  thing  you  are  seeking  may  well 
be  the  deepest  reason  why  you  shall  not  soon 
find  it,  but  shall  be  led  still  to  seek,  and  strug- 
gle, and  cry,  and  watch  those  that  are  satisfied, 
and  to  say,  "  I  would  give  the  world  if  I  could  feel 
as  they  do."  It  may  well  be  that  your  prayer  for 
the  revelation  you  need  will  span  your  whole 
lifetime ;  that  now  and  then  there  will  be  a  flash, 
and  then  again  the  dark ;  yet  what  you  come  to 
in  this  seeking,  is  a  treasure  you  could  not  come 
to  in  the  finding. 

"You  make  the  larger  faith  your  own; 
The  power  is  with  you  in  the  night 
That  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 
And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone." 

It  is  only  and  altogether  essential  that  we 
shall  be  sure  the  treasure  is  there :  that  this  is 
no  delusion,  which  has  come  sweeping  through 
human  souls  in  floods  of  living  light,  filling  them 
with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory,  bringing 
God  so  near  that  they  have  instinctively  called 


184      -  STORMING   HEAVEN. 

him  Father ;  so  informing  them  of  heaven,  that  it 
never  occurred  to  them  any  one  could  doubt  it ; 
quickening  the  soul  so  with  the  sense  of  her  im- 
mortality, that  she  would  soar  and  sing  immortal 
songs  out  of  her  heart's  treasure,  and  nerve  her 
poor  organism  to  meet  the  axe,  or  cross,  or  flame, 
as  quietly  as  if  it  was  but  the  pleasant  prelude 
to  her  rest.  You  must  believe,  struggling, 
doubting,  seeking,  beseeching  man  or  woman  that 
the  door  opened  to  them  will  be  opened  to  you. 
They  found  the  gift  you  are  seeking ;  the  silent 
heavens  heard  them  at  last,  and  gave  them  all 
they  sought. 

Only  this  one  thing  we  must  never  disbelieve. 
Let  us  say  we  cannot  believe  in  God,  or  heaven, 
or  immortality  ourselves,  if  that  indeed  be  the 
condition  of  our  own  souls.  It  cannot  be  wrong 
to  tell  the  truth ;  and  if  this  be  the  truth  in  our 
religious  experience,  that  the  householder  has 
not  risen  to  give  us  bread,  it  is  a  simple  fact, 
and  to  tell  it,  if  I  feel  I  must,  is  honest  and 
manful ;  but  it  is  a  wretched  thing  to  assail 
that  great  multitude  no  man  can  number,  who 
through  all  the  ages  have  compelled  Heaven  to 
hear  their  cries,  have  eaten  the  bread  of  life 


STORMING   HEAVEN.  185 

and  are  satisfied,  who  do  believe  in  God  and 
immortality,  and  have  left  a  broad,  shining  track 
that  can  never  grow  dim. 

The  uttermost  wot  that  can  come  to  a  man 
from  this  direction,  is  not  the  inability  he  feels 
in  himself  to  find  these  mighty  confidences,  but 
the  inability  to  believe  they  have  ever  been 
found;  that  the  householder  has  ever  risen  to 
give  bread  to  any  soul.  It  is  ashes  to  ashes,  and 
dust  to  dust,  when  I  make  my  own  destitution 
the  measure  of  the  fulness  of  the  gospel  of  God. 
It  is  as  foolish  for  me  to  do  that,  as  it  would 
be  for  a  blind  man  to  turn  his  blank  orbs  to  the 
June  glory,  and  say,  "  I  see  all  there  is."  Let  me 
still  rest  in  this  solid  certainty,  that  multitudes, 
through  all  the  ages,  have  succeeded,  where  I 
have  failed ;  winning  the  bread  I  hunger  for ; 
finding  the  answer  denied  to  my  cry ;  the  answer 
that  I  shall  surely  find  in  the  fulness  of  time  or 
of  eternity.  Amen. 


IX. 

WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN. 

MARK  vi.  20 :  "  Herod  feared  John." 

HEROD  was  a  king;  John  was  a  subject.  Herod 
was  in  a  palace ;  John  was  in  a  prison.  Herod 
wore  a  crown ;  John  most  probably  did  not  even 
own  a  turban.  Herod  wore  the  purple;  John 
wore  camlet,  as  we  should  call  it.  Soldiers 
and  servants  watched  the  eye  of  Herod,  and 
waited  on  his  will;  only  the  headsman  waited 
hungrily  for  John.  Herod  came  of  a  line  that 
had  never  been  famous  either  for  morals  or 
religion :  they  said,  practically  what  a  famous 
American  long  afterwards  said  verbally,  "that 
religion  is  a  very  good  thing  in  its  place ;  "  they 
had  done  their  best  to  establish  a  government  in 
which  the  old  Jewish  worship  should  serve  as 
a  decoy  duck  to  the  new  Jewish  kingdom  ;  they 
made  it  what  the  State  forever  makes  the 
Church  when  it  gets  a  chance  —  a  fountain  of 

186 


WHY  HEROD   FEARED   JOHN.  187 

preferment,  with  which  it  can  bribe  or  buy  the 
upper,  and  a  mystic  spell  by  which  it  can  weave 
fetters  of  superstition  for  the  lower,  classes ; 
and  up  to  this  time  the  dynasty  had  succeeded 
substantially  in  doing  what  it  proposed  to  do. 
Yet  still  "  Herod  feared  John." 

Herod,  the  elder,  father  of  this  Herod  Anti- 
pas  who  feared  John,  was  a  man  of  notable 
power.  Appointed  over  Judea  by  Julius  Caesar, 
about  forty-seven  years  before  'our  Christian 
era,  he  fought  his  way  through  invasion  from 
without  and  treachery  from  within,  until  he 
had  at  last  established  the  throne  on  what 
seemed,  for  those  times,  to  be  deep  foundations. 
He  was  what  one  might  call  an  Eclectic  in  re- 
ligion. When  he  ascended  the  throne,  he  made 
offerings  to  Jupiter  of  the  capitol;  his  coins, 
as  well  as  those  of  his  son,  bear  only  Greek 
inscriptions.  Yet  he  rebuilt  the  temple  at  Je- 
rusalem in  a  style  of  magnificence  surpass- 
ing even  that  of  Solomon.  But  then  he  built 
a  temple  for  the  Samaritans,  too ;  and,  indeed, 
was  a  man  full  of  politeness  —  a  sort  of  human 
Pantheon,  in  which  Greek  and  Roman,  Jew  and 
Samaritan,  were  welcome  to  set  up  their  sym- 


188        WHY  HEEOD  FEARED  JOHN. 

bols,  —  for  which  he  cared  no  more  than  if  he 
himself  had  been  so  much  marble ;  and  finally, 
so  far  as  we  can  trace  him,  he  left  his  princi- 
ples and  his  kingdom,  in  the  full  prime  of  their 
strength,  to  his  son. 

John  was  the  son  of  an  obscure  Jewish  coun- 
try priest  and  his  wife:  the  child  of  their  old  age. 
There  is  no  hint  that  John  had  any  wealth,  or 
name,  or  fame,  or  education,  or  influence,  when 
he  began  his  life  as  a  man.  He  comes  on  the 
scene  as  a  rough,  angular  man,  with  not  many 
words  and  not  many  friends.  Herod  began  to 
reign  just  about  when  John  began  to  live,  so  that 
there  was  no  preponderant  age  in  the  priest's 
son  over  the  king's  son :  that  was  all  on  the 
other  side. 

Indeed,  by  all  mere  surface  facts,  principles, 
and  analogies,  John  ought  to  have  feared  Herod ; 
he  ought  to  have  bated  his  breath  and  bent  his 
head  before  him.  John's  life  was  not  worth 
thirty  minutes'  purchase,  if  Herod  did  but  give 
the  sign  to  kill  him.  And  John  knew  that,  and 
Herod  knew  it  too.  Yet  they  rise  up  like  ghosts 
before  us  out  of  that  distant  time  —  the  king 
in  the  palace,  the  reformer  in  the  prison;  the 


WHY  HEROD  FEARED   JOHNt  189 

v 

king  with  the  sceptre  in  his  hand,  the  reformer 
with  the  shackle  on  his  wrist.  But  the  eye  of 
the  prisoner  burns  with  a  clear  lustre,  and  looks 
right  on ;  the  eye  of  the  king  quails  under  its 
drooping  lid.  The  hand  of  the  prisoner  is  cool, 
and  his  foot  firm ;  his  head  erect,  and  his  voice 
clear  as  the  voice  of  a  trumpet.  The  hand  of 
the  king  is  hot,  his  step  uncertain,  his  head 
bowed,  and  his  voice  broken,  and,  as  you  watch 
them,  you  get  a  great  sense  that  the  two  men 
have  somehow  changed  places  —  the  king  is  a 
prisoner,  the  prisoner  a  king. 

Now,  I  propose  to  discuss  at  this  time  the 
roots  of  this  power  and  weakness,  to  see 
what  made  Herod  so  weak  and  John  so  strong, 
and  to  ask  this  question,  What  can  we,  who 
are  set  as  John  was,  in  the  advance  guard  of 
reformers,  do  to  make  a  deep,  clear  mark? 

And  1  note  for  you  that  John  had  three  great 
roots  of  power :  First,  he  was  a  powerful  man 
by  creation  —  a  man  with  a  clear  head,  a  steady 
nerve,  and  a  nature  set  in  a  deadly  antagonism 
to  sin  and  meanness  of  every  sort  and  degree. 
He  was  the  Jewish  John  Knox,  or  John  Brown. 

"  When  he  saw  a  thing  was  true, 
He  went  to  work  and  put  it  through." 


190  WHY  HEROD   FEARED   JOHN. 

• 

He  could  die,  but  he  could  not  back  down.  Now, 
truly,  there  is  a  sure  and  solid  principle  at  the 
heart  of  these  old  chronicles  that  tell  us  how 
angels  came  as  messengers  from  God  to  notify 
the  world  of  the  advent  of  his  most  glorious 
sons ;  that  when  God  wants  a  particular  sort  of 
man,  to  do  a  singular  work  for  him,  at  a  critical 
time,  he  makes  him,  and  sends  him,  angel-guard- 
ed, to  his  place;  so  that  no  man  can  be  John, 
but  John  himself. 

Every  time  I  meet  a  man  who  is  a  man,  and 
not  a  stick,  I  ask  myself  one  question :  "  Why 
are  you  the  man  you  are  ?  Whence  does  your 
power  hint  itself  to  me?  Whence  does  it 
come  ? "  And  while  the  ultimate  answer  has 
never  come  out  of  Phrenology,  or  Physiognomy, 
or  any  of  the  sciences  that  profess  to  tell  you 
what  a  man  is  by  how  he  looks,  yet  the  indica- 
tive answer  has  always  lain  in  that  direction. 
In  the  head,  and  face,  and  form  of  a  man  there 
is  certainly  something  that  impresses  you  in 
some  such  way  as  the  weight,  color,  and  inscrip- 
tion of  a  coin  reveal  to  you,  with  a  fair  certainty, 
whether  it  be  gold,  or  silver,  or  —  brass  ;  and  it 
is  possible,  too,  that  the  line  in  which  a  man  has 


WHY  HEROD  FEAKED  JOHN.        191 

descended,  the  country  in  which  he  is  born,  the 
climate,  the  scenery,  the  history,  the  poetry  ,'and 
the  society  about  him,  have  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  the  man. 

The  father,  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  as  I 
have  known  in  old  English  families,  may  be 
twenty-two  carat  gold ;  and  the  children  in 
Queen  Victoria's  time  may  be  no  better  than 
lead.  That  mysterious  antagonism  that  sows 
tares  among  the  wheat,  sows  baseness  in  the 
blood  ;  and  if  there  be  not  forever  a  careful  and 
most  painful  dividing  and  burning,  the  tares  will 
in  time  come  to  nearly  all  there  is  pn  the  soil. 
But  still  forever  the  great  mint  of  Providence 
beats  on,  silently,  certainly,  continually,  sending 
its  own  new  golden  coins  to  circulate  through 
our  human  life,  and  on  each  of  them  stamping 
the  infallible  image  and  superscription  that  tells 
us  "  this  is  gold."  Nay,  the  same  great  Provi- 
dence makes  not  only  gold  coins,  but  silver  and 
iron,  too ;  and  if  they  are  true  to  their  ring, 
they  are  all  divine ;  as  in  all  great  houses  there 
be  divers  vessels,  some  to  more  honor  and  some 
to  less  honor,  but  not  one  to  dishonor  if  it  be  true- 
to  its  purpose ;  for  while  the  golden  vase  that 


192        WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN. 

holds  the  wine  at  the  feast  of  a  king  is  a  vessel 
of  honor,  so  is  the  iron  pot  that  holds  the  meats 
in  the  furnace ;  the  Parian  vase  that  you  fill 
with  flowers  is  a  vessel  of  honor,  and  so  is  the 
tin  dipper  with  which  you  fill  it  at  the  well. 

For  me,  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  study  mere- 
ly the  pictures  of  great  men.  There  is  a  power 
in  the  very  shadow  that  makes  you  feel  they 
were  born  to  be  kings  and  priests  unto  God. 
But  if  you  know  a  great  man  personally,  you 
find  a  power  in  him  which  the  picture  can  never 
give  you.  It  is  the  difference  between  the  pic- 
ture of  a  tree  and  a  tree,  or  between  paste  and 
jewels;  and  as  you  try  to  reach  back  to  first 
principles,  to  search  out  the  reason  why  he  is 
what  he  is,  —  as  you  search  for  it  in  the  sciences 
I  have  mentioned,  and  in  family  descent,  and  in 
climate,  and  scenery,  and  society, — though  these 
all  hint  some  truth  to  us,  they  are  at  the  best 
only  as  the  figures  and  .pointers  on  the  dial. 
Their  utmost  use  is  to  mark  the  movement 
within ;  and  that  movement  is  worthless,  if  it  be 
not  chorded  with  the  sun  and  stars.  And  so, 
too,  I  love  those  old,  solemn,  primitive  affirma- 
tions that  make  the  outward  of  the  best  men  but 
indicative  of  the  inward,  and  that  again  a  tran- 


WHY   HEROD   FEARED   JOHN.  193 

« 

script  of  the  mind  of  God.  So  I  care  little  for  our 
birth  and  breeding,  if  there  is  this  purpose  of  God, 
that  we  shall  be  genuine  in  our  inmost  nature. 

I  suppose  this  good  Jewish  country  parson, 
the  father  of  John,  from  the  little  we  can  glean 
about  him,  was  just  a  gentle,  timid,  pious,  re- 
tiring man,  whose  mind  had  never  risen  above 
the  routine  of  his  humble  post  in  the  temple ;  a 
man  who  would  have  talked  for  a  week,  or  a 
month,  or  a  year  about  some  little  courtesy 
Herod  had  shown  him;  a  man  devoted  to  the 
priesthood,  just  as  the  father  of  Franklin,  in  this 
old  town  of  Boston,  was  to  the  making  of  can- 
dles, or  Luther's  father  in  Germany  to  the  mak- 
ing of  charcoal,  or  Shakespeare's  to  the  selling 
of  oxen  at  Stratford,  or  Johnson's  of  books  — 
good,  true  men,  iron,  copper,  or  silver,  and  bid- 
ding fair  to  raise  a  family  that  is  iron,  or  copper, 
or  silver,  too.  But  lo  !  God,  in  the  full  time, 
drops  just  one  golden  ingot  down  into  that  fam- 
ily treasury,  pure,  ponderous,  solid  gold  ;  for 

"  It  is  the  growing  soul  within  the  man 
That  makes  the  man  graw  t 
Just  as  the  fiery  sap  the  touch  from  God 
Careering  through  a  tree  dilates  the  bark, 
So  life  deepening^  within  us  deepens  all." 

13 


194       WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN. 

• 

Yet  I  need  not  tell  you  that  there  is  a  theory 
of  human  nature  that  busies  itself  forever  in 
trying  to  prove  that  our  human  nature  in  itself 
is  abominably  and  naturally  despicable.  Towards 
their  fellow-men,  the  holders  of  this  idea  are  as 
particular  about  their  character  and  standing 
as  the  rest  of  us.  They  shall  rise  from  their 
prayers,  in  which  they  have  called  themselves 
twenty  hard  names,  and  if  you  repeat  over  but 
one  of  them,  instantly  they  are  offended.  To- 
wards us,  they  are  as  particular  upon  points  of 
honor  as  a  Spaniard.  Towards  God,  they  turn 
with  not  one  shred  of  self-respect  — "  they  like 
to  be  despised."  They  insist  upon  it  that  God 
never  cast  a  golden  coin  into  this  world  at  all 
—  that  our  common  human  nature  is  nothing 
but  base  metal,  with  awful  chances  that  it  will 
ever  be  aught  else  —  that  if  saved,  then  saved 
by  transmutation  —  if  lost,  then  lost  because, 
though  the  Almighty  considered  them  worth 
making,  he  did  not  consider  them  worth  trans- 
muting. 

There  are  two  replies  to  this  theory.  The 
first  is  found  in  that  good  story  you  have  all 
read  in  a  lately  printed  book.  "Janet,"  said 


WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN.        195 

the  minister,  "  there  is  really  nothing  in  yon 
that  is  at  all  worthy  of  salvation.  Now,  suppose 
God,  at  the  last,  should  let  you  drop  into  hell. 
What  would  you  say  to  that  ? "  Janet  was  on 
her  death  bed.  She  had  been  all  her  life  in  this 
dark  shadow  of  a  possible  predestination  to  the 
pit.  But  she  had  lain  still  in  her  room,  in  thia 
sickness,  a  long  time,  and  her  soul  had  caught, 
now  and  again,  with  great  distinctive  vividness, 
a  flash  of  the  Eternal  Light  that  at  these  times 
touches  the  soul  from  the  land  where  the  Lord 
God  is  the  Sun.  "  Minister,"  Janet  said,  quietly, 
"  I  have  thought  it  all  over.  I  believe  God  will 
do  with  me  just  whatever  he  has  a  mind  to  do. 
I  cannot  tell  what  he  will  do.  But  this  I  know : 
he  made  me  ;  I  am  the  work  of  his  hands ;  and 
if  he  puts  me  down  into  hell,  he  will  lose  more 
by  doing  it  than  I  shall  by  bearing  it."  The 
second  reply  is  embodied  in  the  fact,  that  God 
does  in  all  times  and  places  send  golden  men 
into  this  world.  Gold  is  the  mine,  it  may  be ; 
or  gold  and  sand  and  mica  —  gold  that  needs  to 
be  pounded,  and  melted,  and  purified  by  fire; 
but  still,  at  the  heart  of  all,  real  gold,  —  gold  by 
creation,  and  not  by  transmutation,  —  needing 


196  WHY  HEROD   FEARED   JOHN. 

only  what  it  finds  in  God  and  in  life  to  bring  it 
out  into  full  perfection. 

Now,  this  primitive  intrinsic  nature,  I  say,  was 
the  first  element  that  made  John  mightier  in 
the  prison  than  Herod  was  in  the  palace.  The 
one  was  a  king  by  creation ;  the  other  was  only 
a  king  by  descent.  And  then,  secondly,  there 
comes  into  the  difference  another  element. 
Herod  made  the  purple  vile  by  his  sin ;  John 
made  the  camel's  hair  radiant  by  his  holiness. 
And  in  that  personal  truth,  this  rightwiseness, 
this  wholeness,  he  gained  every  divine  force  in' 
the  universe  over  to  his  side,  and  left  to  Herod 
only  the  infernal  forces.  It  was  a  question  of 
power,  reaching  back  ultimately,  as  all  such 
questions  do,  to  God  and  the  devil.  So  the 
fetter  was  turned  to  a  sceptre,  and  the  sceptre 
to  a  fetter,  and  the  soul  of  the  Sybarite  quailed, 
and  went  down  before  the  soul  of  the  saint. 

Now  this,  as  we  enter  into  his  spirit  and  life, 
is  what  comes  home  to  us  with  the  most  invin- 
cible power  and  clearness.  We  weigh  the  hints 
of  those  old  writers  about  John,  and  gather  from 
them  that  he  was  intrinsically  sound,  from  the 
outermost  surface  to  the  innermost  centre  of  bis 


WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN.        197 

life.  Whatever  error  he  might  make  in  being 
hard  and  insensible  to  the  beauty  and  glory,  the 
more  tender  and  lovable  aspects  of  life,  his  life, 
as  he  got  it,  was  a  whole  life.  There  are  not 
many  men  in  this  world  who  begin  life  deter- 
mined to  be  sinful.  The  set  of  our  determi- 
nation is  the  other  way.  I  think  God  takes  care 
that  every  young  man  shall  get  flashes  of  the 
beauty  of  holiness,  and  of  the  ghastliness  of 
sin ;  and  that  no  man  will  quietly  determine  to 
break  away  from  that  passable  beauty,  with  no 
hope  of  getting  back  again.  But  a  great  num- 
ber of  young  men  begin  to  sin  spasmodically. 
They  drink  the  waters  of  sin,  as  the  dog  in 
Egypt  is  said  to  drink  of  the  Nile,  Being  in 
a  wholesome  fear  of  some  lurking  crocodile,  he 
just  laps  a  little,  and  then  runs  a  little,  and  so 
keeps  on  lapping  and  running,  until  he  is  either 
satisfied  or  snapped  up. 

Then  there  is  a  second  class  of  men,  who  start 
in  life  determined  to  go  right  on,  and  to  do  just 
about  right.  And  they  do  seem  to  go  right  on  ; 
yet  still,  when  they  themselves  measure  their 
track  by  long  distances,  there  is  a  shadow  of 
deflection.  They  are  conscious  of  bearing  a 


198         WHY  HEEOD  FEARED  JOHN. 

little  to  the  left.  They  are  not  in  the  direct  line 
in  which  they  started.  While  no  one  step  seems 
to  be  more  than  a  hair's  breadth  out  of  the  true 
line,  and  one  earnest  moment  every  day,  one 
careful  observation  by  the  Eternal  Sun,  would 
put  them  right,  yet  they  do  not  take  it.  It  is 
easier  sailing  as  it  is.  When  the  Indian,  on  the 
great  prairies  of  the  Far  West,  goes  out  to  hunt 
the  wild  horse,  and  the  horse,  seeing  him  come, 
shakes  his  mane,  and  gallops  with  the  fleetness 
of  the  wind,  he  never  follows  directly  in  the 
track  of  the  animal  he  is  after,  for  he  knows  it 
will  be  hopeless  trying  to  overtake  him  that  way. 
But  he  simply  observes  the  almost  insensible 
deflection  of  his  victim  from  the  true  line,  and 
he  knows  that  the  horse  is  sure  to  keep  on  that 
side  of  the  line.  So  he  crosses  the  arc  of  flight, 
as  the  string  crosses  the  bow,  with  the  certainty 
of  meeting  his  victim  at  the  point  of  attachment, 
though  he  may  never  see  him  for  fifty  miles. 
So  sin  and  retribution  are  victim  and  victor ! 
So  the  line  of  deflection  becomes  itself  the  guide 
to  retribution  !  All  day  long  the  wrong-doer  sees 
only  the  boundless  landscape,  and  speeds  along, 
rejoicing  in  the  vast  latitudes  of  freedom ;  but  at 


WHY  HEROD   FEARED  JOHN.  199 

sunset   his   neck  is  in  the  lasso,  and  he  is  Jed 
captive  by  the  devil  at  his  will. 

Then  the  good  man,  the  true,  upright,  down- 
right man  of  power,  goes  right  on  to  the  mark. 
Let  me  tell  you  a  story  given  me  by  the  late  ven- 
erable James  Mott,  of  Philadelphia,  whose  uncle, 
fifty  years  ago,  discovered  the  island  in  the  Pa- 
cific inhabited  by  Adams  and  his  companions, 
as  you  have  read  in  the  story  of  "  The  Mutiny 
of  the  Bounty."  I  was  talking  with  him  one 
day  about  it,  and  he  said  that,  after  staying  at 
the  island  for  some  time,  his  uncle  turned  his 
vessel  homeward,  and  steered  directly  for  Bos- 
ton, —  sailing  as  he  did  from  your  own  good  city, 
—  eight  thousand  miles  distant.  Month  after 
month  the  brave  craft  ploughed  through  storm 
and  shine,  keeping  her  head  ever  homewards. 
But  as  she  came  near  home,  she  got  into  a  thick 
fog,  and  seemed  to  be  sailing  by  guess.  The 
captain  had  never  sighted  land  from  the  time 
they  started ;  but  one  night  he  said  to  the  crew, 
"  Now,  boys,  lay  her  to !  I  reckon  Boston  har- 
bor must  be  just  over  there  somewhere  ;  but  we 
must  wait  for  the  fog  to  clear  up  before  we  try  to 
run  in."  And  so,  sure  enough,  when  the  morn- 


200        WHT  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN. 

ing  sun  rose  it  lifted  the  fog,  and  right  over 
against  them  were  the  spires  and  homes  of  the 
great  city  of  Boston!  So  can  men  go  right 
onward  over  this  great  sea  of  life.  The  chart 
and  compass  are  with  them;  and  the  power 
is  with  them  to  observe  the  meridian  sun  and 
the  eternal  stars.  Storms  will  drive  them,  cur- 
rents will  drift  them,  dangers  will  beset  them; 
they  will  long  for  more  solid  certainties  ;  but  by 
noon  and  by  night  they  will  drive  right  on,  cor- 
recting deflections,  resisting  adverse  influences, 
and  then,  at  the  last,  when  they  are  near  home, 
they  will  know  it.  The  darkness  may  be  all 
about  them,  but  the  soul  shines  in  its  confidence ; 
and  the  true  mariner  will  say  to  his  soul,  "  I  will 
wait  for  the  mist  to  rise  with  the  new  morning ; 
I  know  home  is  just  over  there."  Then  in  the 
morning  he  is  satisfied ;  he  wakes  to  see  the 
golden  light  on  temple  and  home.  So  God  brings 
him  to  the  desired  haven. 

Now  John  was  one  of  those  right-on  men. 
With  the  sort  of  power,  above  all  others,  to  be 
ruined  if  any  suspicion  of  impurity  could  be  made 
to  cling  to  his  name,  living  in  a  community 
where  any  handle  for  such  suspicion  would  be 


WHY  HEROD   FEARED   JOHN.  201 

hailed  as  a  providence  to  destroy  bis  influence, 
he  held  on  in  his  own  severely  pure,  strong  life, 
from  the  country  parsonage  to  the  block ;  and  the 
most  malicious  in  all  Jewry  never  whispered  the 
possibility  of  a  stain.  Had  there  been  a  crevice 
in  John's  armor,  Herod  would  have  found  it  out 
and  laughed  at  him  ;  but  in  the  presence  of  that 
pure  life,  that  deep,  conscious  antagonism  to  sin, 
that  masterful  power,  won  as  a  soldier  wins  a 
hard  battle,  this  man  on  the  throne  was  abased 
before  that  man  in  the  prison.  Herod  could  mus- 
ter courage  to  face  a  partial  purity  ;  but  a  whole 
man  was  to  him  what  the  spear  of  the  angel  was 
to  the  vile  thing  whispering  at  the  ear  of  the  first 
mother.  It  changed  the  possible  fitness  of  na- 
ture into  the  positive  deformity  of  hell.  There- 
fore Herod  feared  John. 

Then  the  third  root  of  power  in  this  great  man, 
by  which  he  mastered  a  king,  —  by  which  he  be- 
came a  king,  —  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  was  a  true, 
clear,  unflinching,  outspoken  preacher  of  holi- 
ness. There  are  diverse  ways  of  trying  to  reach 
the  soul  that  has  sunk  down  into  sin  and  sen- 
sualism, as  this  soul  of  Herod  had  sunk.  Some 
preachers  reflect  the  great  verities  of  religion, 


202        WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN. 

as  bad  boys  reflect  the  sun  from  bits  of  broken 
glass.  They  stand  just  on 'one  side,  and  flash 
a  blaze  of  fierce  light  across  the  eyes  of  their 
victim,  and  leave  him  more  bewildered  and  irri- 
tated than  he  was  before.  Such  a  one  is  your 
fitful,  changing  doctrinaire,  whose  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong,  of  sin  and  holiness,  of  God  and  the 
devil,  to-day,  are  not  at  all  as  they  were  last 
Sunday ;  who  holds  not  that  blessed  thing,  an 
ever-changing,  because  an  ever-growing  and  ripen- 
ing faith,  but  a  mere  sand-hill  of  bewilderment, 
liable  to  be  blown  anywhere  by  the  next  great 
storm.  Then  there  is  another  sort  of  preacher, 
who  is  like  the  red  light  at  the  head  of  a  railway 
night  train.  He  is  made  for  warning ;  he  comes 
to  tell  of  danger.  That  is  the  work  of  his  life. 
When  he  is  not  doing  that,  he  has  nothing  to  do. 
I  hear  friends  at  times  question  whether  this  man 
has  a  divine  mission.  Surely,  if  there  be  danger 
to  the  soul,  —  and  that  question  is  not  yet  decided 
in  the  negative,  —  then  he  has  to  the  inner  life  a 
mission  as  divine  as  that  of  the  red  lamp  to  the 
outer  life.  And  I  know  myself  of  men  who 
have  turned  sharp  out  of  the  traok  before  his 
fierce  glare,  who,  but  for  him,  had  been  run 


WHY   HEROD   FEARED   JOHN.  203 

down,  and  into  a  disgraceful  grave.  But  the 
true  preacher  of  holiness,  the  real  forerunner  of 
Christ,  is  the  man  who  holds  up  in  himself  the 
divine  truth,  as  a  true  mirror  holds  the  light,  so 
that  whoever  comes  to  him,  will  see  his  own 
character  just  as  it  is. 

Such  a  man  was  this  who  mastered  a  king. 
His  soul  was  never  distorted  by  the  traditions  of 
the  elders,  or  the  habits  of  "  good  society,"  as  it 
is  called.  On  the  broad  clear  surface  of  his  soul, 
as  on  a  pure  still  lake,  you  saw  things  as  if  in  a 
great  deep.  He  had  no  broken  lights,  for  he 
held  fast  to  his  own  primitive  nature,  and  to 
his  own  direct  inspiration.  He  did  not  need 
much  lurid  fire,  though  he  used  it  sometimes; 
but  he  was  essentially  a  child  of  the  day,  and 
realities  shone  when  he  stood  near  them.  Men 
needed  but  to  come  near  him,  and  they  saw  just 
what  they  were.  And  so,  as  he  stood  by  the 
Jordan,  crying,  "  Repent  ye,  for  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  at  hand,"  the  merchant  came,  and 
went  away  resolving  to  rectify  that  false  entry 
at  the  customs  ;  the  farmer  went  home  and  shifted 
the  old  landmark  back  again,  so  as  to  restore  the 
few  inches  he  had  cribbed  so  cunningly  the  week 


WHY  HEROD  FEARED  JOHN. 

before  last ;  the  soldier  determined  to  pay  that 
widow  for  her  care  ;  the  publican  said  to  himself, 
"  From  this  time  forth  I  will  take  a  true  tax,  and 
no  more,  as  the  Lord  liveth ;  "  and  Herod  came, 
as  the  English  queen  came  to  the  mirror  when  all 
her  beauty  was  turned  to  ashes,  and  the  sight 
was  an  intolerable  horror  to  his  soul,  so  that  he 
could  bear  to  look  no  more.  Had  John  held  only 
the  broken  lights  of  mere  optimism  before  the 
soul  of  this  simple  king,  or  come  to  him  with  a 
message  deriving  its  power  from  the  last  read- 
ings of  the  Talmud,  or  even  the  Prophets,  Herod 
would  have  snapped  his  fingers  in  his  face  and 
laughed  him  to  scorn.  But  there  stood  the  man 
as  God  made  him  —  deep,  calm,  pure,  clear; 
touching  in  his  earnest  words  the  roots  of 
things  ;  saying  honestly,  "  Herod,  this  deed  about 
thy  brother's  wife  is  a  piece  of  vileness  !  Thou 
shalt  not  take  her  !  "  So,  though  he  still  cleaved 
to  his  sin,  Herod  saw  his  soul  as  the  queen  saw 
her  face  scarred  and  netted  with  bad  passions, 
and  he  was  terrified  at  the  vision  of  himself. 

I  tell  you  it  is  no  matter  what  you  may  come 
to  be,  as  the  result  of  your  true  and  honest  life. 
Men  may  revile  you,  and  cast  you  out;  but 


WHY   HEROD   FEARED   JOHN.  205 

through  it  all,  if  you  are  true  to  God  you  shall 
feel  that  there  is  a  life  of  the  soul  that  pales  all 
other  in  its  exceeding  glory.  John  may  be  in 
the  prison,  with  his  poor  garment  of  camel's  hair, 
and  with  the  headsman  waiting  for  him  outside  ; 
but  he  is  blessed  beyond  all  telling,  compared 
with  Herod  in  the  palace,  with  slaves  to  watch 
his  merest  nod.  For  the  one  has  even  now 
breaking  upon  his  soul  the  glory  from  that 
great  city  where  the  Lord  God  is  the  light ;  the 
thick  walls  of  cloud  are  already  lifting  before  the 
morning  sun ;  he  knows  the  home  lies  just  over 
there.  But  the  other  has  only  a  leap  in  the  dark, 
after  a  life  in  the  dark,  with  dark  faces  in  the 
dark  all  about  him.  My  friends,  endure  hardship 
like  good  soldiers.  Ye  shall  reap  your  reward. 


X. 

MARRIAGE. 
t 

THE  most  sacred  relation  of  humanity  is  that  of 
husband  and  wife.  They  stand  for  more  than 
father  and  mother,  or  parents  and  children,  be- 
cause they  are  the  fountain  from  which  these 
relations  spring;  and,  changing  the  mere  man 
and  woman  into  these  sacred  names,  makes  that 
a  glory  which  were  otherwise  a  shame. 

According  to  the  Bible,  it  is  a  relation  as 
old  as  our  human  history;  and  nothing  outside 
of  the  Bible,  that  I  know  of,  contradicts  this 
testimony.  Other  old  books  cast  the  matter  into 
other  forms,  as  they  themselves  are  the  product 
of  other  races;  but  the  whole  story  looks  like 
this,  when  it  is  told,  that  in  the  beginning  the 
divine  power  made  man  and  woman,  and-  set 
them  on  the  throne  of  the  world,  and  gave  them 
from  the  first  the  grace  to  be  husband  and  wife, 
to  find  in  each  other  the  counterpart  and  com- 
pletion of  their  own  being.  206 


MARRIAGE.  207 

While  the  creation  over  which  they  were  given 
dominion  followed  its  special  instinct,  and  sought 
its  lair  or  made  its  nest,  there  brought  forth  its 
young,  and  before  another  spring  knew  them  for 
its  own  no  more  than  if  they  were  on  another 
continent,  this  husband  and  wife  made  them  a 
home,  reared  a  family,  were  steadfast  not  for  a 
few  months,  but  for  a  lifetime,  to  those  that  were 
born  of  their  body ;  sent  them  out  in  due  time, 
to  do  as  they  had  done,  but  still  counted  them 
and  their  children  as  an  intimate  belonging  of 
the  old  homestead ;  and  so  this  human  race  has 
never  evened  itself  with  the  beasts  that  perish, 
except  as  it  has  become  lower  and  worse.  It 
is  husband  and  wife  wherever  you  find  them  — 
he  the  weapon-man  and  she  the  web-man,  as  the 
old  Anglo-Saxon  Bible  translates  those  words  of- 
Jesus,  where  he  says,  "  Have  ye  not  read  that 
he  which  made  them  at  the  beginning  made 
them  male  and  female  —  he  the  weapon-man, 
she  the  web-man ;  he  the  defender,  and  she  the 
clother ;  he  the  warrior,  and  she  the  weaver ; 
each  indispensable  to  the  other,  and  both  in- 
dispensable to  the  whole." 

The  divine  alchemy,  if  I  may  use  the  word, 


208  MAERIAGE. 

that  transmutes  the  man  and  woman  into  hus- 
band and  wife,  is  marriage.  It  always  has  been 
so,  and  no  doubt  always  will  be.  The  observ- 
ance  of  marriage  as  a  ceremony  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  in  different  countries  and  times'* 
ranging  all  the  way  from  the  custom  of  the 
Australian  black,  who  beats  the  maiden  he  will 
take  until  she  is  insensible,  and  then  carries  her 
off  to  his  hut,  to  the  pure  and  simple  ceremonial 
used  in  the  best  Protestant  communions.  In 
the  grossest  savagery,  marriage  is,  as  a  rule,  as 
rude  and  brutal  as  possible.  As  we  rise  in  the 
true  scale  of  life  it  takes  a  nobler  and  better 
form,  and  on  the  summits  of  life  it  is  a  sacra- 
ment, and  the  most  awful  sacrament,  perhaps,  we 
can  ever  take,  and  the  most  certain,  if  we  take  it 
unworthily,  to  bring  damnation.  But  from  the 
rudest  and  most  brutal  savage,  to  the  truest 
American,  marriage, — the  loftiest  and  best,  as  I 
believe,  on  the  planet,  —  it  is  always,  in  some 
sense,  the  same  thing  that  is  done  in  this  union. 
It  turns  the  man  and  woman  into  husband  and 
wife,  creates  the  beginning  of  a  home,  insures  a 
true  and  welcome  identity  between  parents  and 
offspring,  binds  life  together  between  one  gen- 


MARRIAGE.  209 

eration  and  another,  and  out  of  the  kingdom 
of  Nature  helps  to  bring  the  kingdom  of  God. 
"For  marriage,"  Bishop  Taylor  says,  "like  the 
bee,  builds  a  house,  and  gathers  sweetness,  la- 
bors, and  unites  into  societies  and  republics, 
keeps  order,  exercises  many  virtues,  promotes 
the  general  interest  of  mankind,  and  is  that 
etate  of  good  to  which  God  has  designed  the 
present  constitution  of  the  world." 

Marriage  is  a  divine  institution,  because  there 
is  a  divine  reason  for  it  in  our  life.  So,  when 
Jesus  said,  "  A  man  shall  leave  his  father  and 
mother,  and  shall  cleave  to  his  wife,  and  they 
twain  shall  be  one.  What  God,  therefore,  hath 
joined  together,  let  no  man  put  asunder ;  "  it 
was  the  sequel  and  conclusion  to  what  he  had 
said  a  moment  before,  that  God  had  made  it  so 
in  the  beginning.  A  true  marriage  is,  therefore, 
always  a  religious  act  in  itself,  because  religion 
means  the  binding  of  one  to  another,  whether  it 
be  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  in  a  true  and  pure 
union.  So  the  Scriptures  never  command  this 
relation;  they  only  recognize,  and  bless,  and 
guard  it.  Everything  seems  to  be  settled  once 
for  all,  from  their  own  beautiful  and  holy  vision 
14  » 


210  MARRIAGE. 

of  it,  when  the  man  wakes  before  the  fall,  sees 
the  woman  that  God  has  brought  to  him,  recog- 
nizes her  as  a  part  of  his  very  self,  takes  her  to 
his  heart,  and  God  is  there  as  the  witness,  and 
blesses  them. 

Marriage,  in  the  Bible,  stands  forth  as  a  divine 
fact,  rather  than  a  divine  commandment :  it  is 
intimately  one  with  our  creation.  The  blessing 
of  God  is  already  within  that  on  which  the 
minister  calls  the  blessing  of  God  to  descend. 
To  a  true  wedding  of  two  human  souls  and  lives 
nothing  can  be  added  but  religious  ceremonial 
and  the  proper  social  safeguards.  The  man  and 
woman,  in  a  true  wedding,  become  husband  and 
wife,  because  their  Creator  made  them  for  each 
other,  just  as  much  as  he  made  Adam  and  Eve 
for  each  other,  and  brought  them  face  to  face,  as 
he  did  in  Eden.  And  so  when  it  is  really  true  to 
those  who  take  part  in  it,  the  good  old-fashioned 
Quaker  wedding  is  nearest  the  truth  of  God,  in 
which  the  man  and  woman  declare,  as  the  ground 
of  their  union,  that  they  have  been  moved  to 
this  deed  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  That  declaration 
not  only  brings  the  Lord  to  the  marriige,  but 
makes  him  also  the  match-maker  ;  and  it  must  be 


MARRIAGE.  211 

for  this  cause,  in  its  measure,  that  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  the  Quaker  matches  turn  out  well. 
But  every  true  match  is  made  in  heaven ;  and  all 
true  men  and  women  who  believe  this,  and  act  on 
it,  find  something  of  heaven  in  their  match;  so 
that  John  Brown  of  Haddington  was  not  so  far 
wrong  when  he  felt  the  time  had  come  for  him  to 
enter  the  holy  estate,  and  that  he  had  seen  the 
woman  the  Lord  had  made  to  be  his  wife,  and 
went  to  tell  her  so ;  and  the  good  soul  knew  what 
he  had  come  about,  and  was  just  as  sure  as  he 
was  that  she  was  meant  for  him,  and  he  for  her. 
Yet  he  said,  "  My  dear  madam,  you  know  what  I 
am  going  to  say;  but,  if  you  please,  before  I  say 
it,  we  will  ask  a  blessing."  And  that  was  what 
they  did. 

It  is  the  experience  of  all  times,  and  no  doubt 
of  all  peoples,  that  men  and  women  are  made  for 
each  other,  to  be  husband  and  wife,  and  are  very 
often  brought  together  by  a  providence  thej^can- 
not  account  for,  and  they  can  never  be  separated  in 
their  souls  any  more.  A  young  man  goes  into  a 
room  of  an  evening,  *vith  a  heart  as  free  as  an 
unmated  swallow,  and  comes  out  of  it  sixty  min- 
utes after  a  captive  for  life ;  and  the  maiden 


212  MARRIAGE. 

knows  what  the  youth  knows,  and  in  her  heart 
says  amen  to  the  revelation,  though  it  may  take 
her  some  time  to  say  it  with  her  lips.  I  have  a 
friend,  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  who  told  me 
that  when  he  was  in  the  middle  of  the  Pacific  on 
a  voyage,  he  saw  a  face  in  a  dream,  and  it  was 
borne  in  upon  him  that  this  was  the  face  of  his 
wife.  He  went  through  many  adventures  after 
that,  was  away  about  seven  years,  came  back, 
went  home,  went  to  a  quarterly  Quaker  meeting 
in  Bucks  County,  Pennsylvania,  and  there  saw  in 
a  Quaker  bonnet,  for  the  first  time  with  his  hu- 
man eyes,  the  face  he  had  seen  in  his  dream. 
The  maiden  became  his  wife ;  and  I  never  saw  a 
happier  pair  on  the  earth,  or  a  sweeter  home  or 
children;  and  I  have  no  doubt  of  the  perfect 
truth  of  the  story.  All  true  marriages  are  made 
in  heaven. 

"  All  true  love  is  blessed  with  reverence, 
As  heavenly  light  is  blessed  with  heavenly  blue." 

Any  true  observation  of  the  life  we  are  living 
will  bring  the  assurance  that  marriages  of  this 
sort  are  by  no  means  so  few  as  cynics  and  sat- 
irists would  like  us  to  infer.  If  from  thirty  to 


MARRIAGE.  213 

forty  years  of  intimate  observation,  in  two  widely 
separate  sections  of  society,  —  two  worlds,  and 
the  intimacy  of  a  minister  beside,  —  can  be  of 
service  in  forming  an  opinion,  it  is  mine  that  a 
great  preponderance  of  the  men  and  women  who 
become  husbands  and  wives,  find  their  helpmates, 
their  matches,  the  one  human  being  they  need  to 
make  up  the  full  measure,  so  far,  of  their  life,  in 
the  man  or  woman  they  marry. 

It  is  probable  they  may  not  find  what  I  may 
call  their  ideal  man  or  woman  —  the  wonderful 
person  the  romances  can  make  so  much  better 
than  the  Lord  of  life  makes  us,  as  the  pictures  in 
a  fashion-plate  are  finer  than  the  portraits  of  the 
masters.  When  we  form  our  taste  on  this  sort 
of  standard,  we  are  likely  to  be  disappointed,  and 
ought  to  be. 

It  is  possible,  too,  for  many  reasons,  that  in  the 
truest  match  which  the  Lord  himself  can  make, 
there  will  be  times  when  the  husband  and  wife  can- 
not see  eye  to  eye,  or  make  one  music  of  the  bass 
and  alto  in  which  they  plighted  their  troth.  It  is 
extremely  probable  if  a  man  cannot  always  feel 
satisfied  with  himself  before  he  is  married,  he 
will  not  always  feel  satisfied  with  his  wife  after  j 


214  MARRIAGE. 

and  if  she  sometimes  charges  herself  with  folly 
when  she  is  a  maiden,  she  may  do  the  same  now 
and  then  by  her  husband  when  she  is  a  wife.  If 
my  self-love  cannot  hide  or  extenuate  what  is 
wrong  in  myself  always,  it  must  be  a  very  tender, 
and  holy,  and  everlasting  love  that  will  steadily 
overlook  what  may  be  wrong  in  another  that  I 
only  love  as  well  as  myself.  I  know  of  nothing 
in  the  structure  of  this  universe,  or  in  life,  or  in 
the  Bible,  that  can  bear  me  out  in  the  idea  that  a 
'  doubled  possibility  of  happiness,  in  the  addition 
of  another  life  to  mine,  ought  not  to  bring  just 
that  much  more  trial  also :  twice  the  felicity  im- 
plies twice  the  infelicity  in  every  other  direction. 
The  most  exquisite  organization  is  always  ex- 
posed to  the  most  appalling  pain. 

This  possibility  of  falling  out  is  in  some  way  to 
be  expected  then ;  in  what  way,  we  cannot  well 
foresee,  and  it  is  not  best  we  should.  It  may  be 
health,  or  temper,  or  habit  —  it  is  no  matter ;  there 
must  be  trial  of  our  faith  in  each  other,  as  there 
is  of  our  faith  in  God,  and  some  doubt  now  and 
then  of  each  other's  love,  as  there  is  now  and 
then  of  the  diviner  love  of  Heaven.  No  man  or 
woman  has  any  business  to  enter  into  this  inti- 


MARRIAGE.  215 

mate  oneness  of  life  and  soul  without  such  an 
expectation.  When  the  lark  soars  and  sings  over 
a  mountain  tarn,  his  shadow  is  as  deep  in  the 
water  as  his  soaring  is  high  in  heaven.  Wise  old 
Bishop  Taylor  says,  '•  Marriage  has  in  it  less  of 
beauty  than  a  single  life,  but  more  of  safety. 
It  is  more  merry,  but  also  more  sad.  It  is  fuller 
of  joy,  but  also  of  sorrow.  It  lies  under  more 
burdens,  but  is  supported  by  the  strength  of 
love,  so  that  these  burdens  become  delightful." 

Something  like  that  is  to  be  expected  in  the 
very  nature  of  things;  it  is  to  be  found  as 
the  shadow  cast  by  the  truest  and  purest  light 
that  ever  shines  in  a  home.  The  sweetest  wife 
that  ever  lived  has  said  things  to  her  husband 
scores  of  times  that  she  would  allow  no  other 
human  being  to  say  about  him,  or,  once  for  all, 
that  third  person  must  hear  a  piece  of  her  mind, 
if  it  were  in  a  prayer  meeting ;  and  the  truest 
husband  will  now  and  then  make  his  will  known 
to  his  wife  in  tones  so  imperious,  that,  if  he  heard 
another  utter  them  to  the  same  woman,  it  would 
bring  him  leaping,  like  a  leopard,  at  the  scoundrel 
who  dared  to  speak  so  to  the  mother  of  his  chil- 
dren. 


216  MARRIAGE. 

"  Jack,"  we  said  to  our  journeyman  when  he 
had  been  down  home  once,  "Jack,  what  is  the 
matter  with  thy  head  ?  "  "  Going  past  such  a 
cottage,"  Jack  said,  sheepishly,  "  I  heard  the  wo- 
man scream.  I  knew  he  was  not  over  good  to 
her,  and  I  thought  that  was  too  bad.  So  I  rushed 
in,  and  got  hold  of  him,  and  was  trying  to  get 
him  down,  and  then  the  wife  hit  me." 

It  was  an  illustration,  from  a  range  of  life 
among  the  Yorkshire  hills,  that  was  little  better, 
thirty  years  ago,  than  savage,  of  a  principle  that 
.holds  good  in  the  sweetest  and  best  of  the  land, 
where  the  uttermost  hurt  is  a  sharp  word  that  is 
repented  of  and  forgiven  the  moment  it  is  spoken. 
Husbands  and  wives,  when  they  are  wise,  under- 
stand and  act  up  to  it,  as  the  condition  of  being 
what  they  are,  and  bear  and  forbear  within  all 
fair  lines  and  limits. 

With  these  elements  in  marriages,  and  forming  a 
part  of  their  very  structure,  my  observation  con- 
vinces me  that  the  true  match  is  the  rule.  In 
the  overwhelming  majority  of  instances,  those 
that  came  to  be  husband  and  wife  were  made  to 
be  husband  and  wife.  Very  often  in  the  face  of 
our  sins  and  follies,  by  the  tender  mercy  of  God 


MARRIAGE.  217 

and  not  at  all  by  our  deserving,  the  great  gift  is 
given  that  makes  a  heaven  for  us  where  sometimes 
we  would  have  made  perdition  for  ourselves ;  and 
sometimes  the  blessed  life  comes  of  honor  and 
truth,  life-long,  in  those  that  are  made  one  in  it ; 
but  to  believe  that  disappointment  and  misery 
come  of  the  majority  of  marriages,  is  like  be- 
lieving that  in  this  world  the  devil  has  domin- 
ion over  most  souls. 

John  and  Mary  sit  in  their  home,  and  wonder 
how  Thomas  and  Susan  manage  to  make  so  brave 
a  show  of  their  small  stock  of  esteem.  Thomas 
and  Susan  shake  their  heads  now  and  then  about 
John  and  Mary.  But  you  find  that  somehow 
within  it  all  there  is  better  with  the  worse,  as 
there  is  worse  with  the  better.  Very  tender  and 
true  are  they  all  when  sickness  smites  them; 
very  sorely  they  weep  together  over  little  graves. 
And  then,  if  they  must  part,  and  one  goes  to  the 
long  home  and  one  stays  in  this,  whatever  they, 
who  are  left  to  mend  the  poor  broken  life,  may  do, 
is  well  done,  if  they  do  it  modestly  and  truly,  and 
it  has  the  blessing  of  the  Risen  One  upon  it.  But 
then,  in  that  case,  it  is  always  one  more  in  a  heart 
made  larger  to  hold  one  more,  never  one  cast 


218  MARRIAGE. 

out  to  make  way  for  another.  The  match  made 
in  heaven  is  never  unmade. 

It  is  quite  true,  however,  that  with  all  this, 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  this  land  of 
ours,  not  to  speak  just  now  of  other  lands,  rising 
directly  out  of  this  relation  of  husband  and  wife 
—  trouble  that  does  not  lie,  or  cannot  be  brought 
within  the  lines  I  have  tried  to  draw,  but  breaks 
out  and  flames  up  before  the  world,  draws  the 
attention  sometimes  of  a  community,  and  some- 
times of  a  nation,  connects  itself  not  seldom  with 
some  dreadful  tragedy,  and  compels  us  to  ask 
what  we  can  be  coming  to,  and  whether  there  is 
not  to  be  a  complete  disruption  of  the  old  social 
order,  —  liberty  running  into  license,  love  driven 
from  her  throne  by  lust,  and  this  new  land  of 
promise  put  to  shame,  and  brought  to  ruin  by  the 
vileness  that  destroyed  the  old. 

It  is  very  clear  that  here  is  something  for  all  of 
us  to  ponder  who  have  children  coming  up,  who 
must  take  their  chance  with  this  growing  trouble ; 
may  be  smitten  by  it  as  certainly  as  other  people's 
children  are  smitten  now, —  God  pity  them;  or 
whether  we  have  children  or  not,  for  all  of  us  who 
love  their  land,  and  nation,  and  God  and  his  truth, 


MARRIAGE.  219 

and  the  commonwealth  of  the  world.  It  is  natu- 
ral, and  must  be  useful,  I  think,  to  try  to  find 
where  the  reason  lies  for  these  appalling  evils, 
that  do  not  merely  threaten  us,  but  are  on  us ;  and 
whether  plain  and  well-meaning  people  can  use 
these  reasons,  either  for  prevention  or  cure,  or 
what  cure  there  may  be  for  this  great  trouble  that 
seems  to  grow  and  spread  as  we  are  looking  at  it. 
Is  it  not  possible  for  a  man  and  woman  to  make 
sure  when  they  marry  that  they  are  to  be  true 
husband  and  wife  at  the  cost  of  the  usual  pains 
and  penalties  that  will  always  insist  on  their  own 
payment,  and  ought  never  to  be  thought  unrea- 
sonable ?  Is  it  not  possible  to  make  this  natural 
and  beautiful  law  of  our  life  all  but  universal,  that 
for  the  man  there  is  a  woman,  and  for  the  woman  a 
man,  who  will  be  a  true  counterpart  ?  and  that  they 
shall  know  it,  or  else  know  they  can  never  marry, 
because,  without  that,  the  license  and  minister's 
blessing  are  the  merest  farce  that  was  ever  acted. 
I  cannot  but  believe  there  is  such  a  safeguard  — 
a  true  light,  that  lighteth  every  man  who  will  fol- 
low it  —  about  this,  as  there  is  about  truth,  and 
honesty,  and  justice,  and  honor.  I  believe  we 
can  hardly  make  a  mistake,  except  we  insist  on 


220  MAERIAGE. 

doing  it,  about  this  most  essential  thing  in  our 
whole  career.  When  marriage  brings  misery, 
as  a  rule,  it  is  not  by  providence,  but  by  improvi- 
dence, and  we  suffer  in  that  for  our  sin  very 
often  in  something  else. 

And  I  would  venture  to  name  this,  as  the 
first  reason  why  troubles  come  that  can  never 
be  fairly  met,  and  very  worthy  men  and  wo- 
men get  so  badly  mismated,  —  that  the  whole 
habit  now  of  young  people,  as  they  see  each 
other  with  any  thought  of  ever  being  husband 
and  wife,  is  the  habit  of  semi-deception.  They 
set  themselves  to  deceive  the  very  elect,  by 
always  putting  on  an  appearance,  when  they 
are  in  each  other's  company,  that  is  no  more 
true  to  their  nature,  than  the  noble  uncle  is 
true  they  see  on  the  stage,  who  flings  his 
thousands  about  as  if  his  banker's  balance  was 
a  splendid  joke  (as  it  is),  and  then  goes  home 
and  scrimps  his  wife  and  children  of  their 
barest  needs. 

In  the  more  simple  life  of  the  country,  where 
marriages  are  made  that  generally  turn  out 
well,  the  man  and  woman  know  each  other  inti- 
mately. They  go  to  school  together,  and  singing- 


MARRIAGE.  221 

school,  and  apple-bees,  and  huskings.  The  man 
knows  the  woman's  butter,  and  bread,  and  pies, 
by  much  experience  j  and  the  woman  the  man's 
furrow,  and  swath,  and  seat  on  horseback ;  and 
as  for  temper,  have  they  not  fallen  out  and  made 
up  ever  since  they  could  run  alone  ? 

But  in  time  we  rise  in  life,  and  move  from 
the  farm  to  the  city,  exchange  the  kitchen  for 
the  drawing-room,  linsey-woolsey  for  silk,  and 
blue  jean  for  broadcloth.  The  young  gentleman 
comes  in  his  Sunday  best,  and  takes  the  young 
lady  to  the  concert ;  walks  home  with  her  from 
church,  and  stays  to  tea ;  admires  her  touch  on 
the  piano,  and  her  opinion  of  Mrs.  Browning ; 
and  she,  his  superior  air,  and  whatever  beside 
may  take  her  fancy,  including,  very  often,  his 
report  of  the  money  he  makes,  and  can  make ; 
and  that  is  really  all  they  know  of  each  other,  — 
and  that  is  less  than  nothing,  and  vanity.  God 
forgive  them  !  Jt  is  a  game  of  cards,  in  which 
it  is  of  the  first  importance  to  both  not  to  reveal 
their  hands ;  but  the  revelation  is  made  at  last, 
and  they  find  that  both  intended  to  cheat,  and 
did  what  they  intended. 

Of  all  the  things  needed  now  to  make  a  time 


222  MARRIAGE. 

and  happy  marriage,  it  seems  to  me  that  hon- 
esty, reality,  and  a  sweet  and  simple  intimacy, 
are  the  first.  There  is  a  conventional  prudery 
about  our  young  people,  which  must  be  as  bad 
as  it  can  be.  If  the  young  woman  is  making 
bread  when  the  bell  rings,  and  the  servant  says 
it  is  Mr.  Cypher,  there  is  a  rush  to  the  dressing- 
room  to  put  on  a  silk  and  a  simper  ;  and  Mr. 
Cypher  probably  smells  of  cloves.  I  tell  you 
this  is  wicked,  and  false  as  hell.  I  wonder 
things  are  not  worse  than  they  are.  Young  men 
and  women  must  come  as  near  as  possible,  in  all 
pure,  innocent  ways,  to  that  intimacy  with  each 
other  before  they  marry  which  they  must  come 
to  after,  or  they  have  no  right  to  expect  good 
to  come  of  their  evil.  "  Young  women  make 
nets  instead  of  cages,"  Dean  Swift  said.  If  he 
had  not  been  an  ingrain  viUain  in  his  relation  to 
women,  he  would  have  added,  "and  young  men  do 
that  also."  It  is  bad  on  both  si^es.  One  of  the 
greatest  evils  leading  to  the  greatest  of  all,  is 
this  total  want  of  frankness  and  honesty  each 
to  the  other,  in  those  that  must  one  day  be  one. 

Great  trouble  comes  again  out  of  the  mistake 
that  always  has  been  made,  and  I  suppose  will 


MARRIAGE.  223 

be  for  a  long  time  to  come,  that  the  attraction 
that  ends  in  wedlock  is  an  outer  rather  than  an 
innei  fitness.  A  winning  face  and  form,  though 
there  be  nothing  within,  count  for  more,  with 
great  numbers,  than  the  sweetest  graces  of  the 
mind  and  soul.  So  one  marries  a  doll  and  an- 
other a  dolt,  to  find  in  a  year  or  two  that  they 
'have  made  a  mistake  life  will  not  be  long  enough 
to  repent  in  and  get  righted.  There  is  no  in- 
timate and  ultimate  fitness  in  a  man  and  woman 
to  make  them  husband  and  wife  except  the 
fitness  of  mind  and  character.  Beauty  will 
always  be  an  attraction,  and  it  always  should 
be  :  God  has  ordained  it  so.  And  somewhere  in 
this  world,  for  the  beauty  that  is  merely  in  form 
and  feature,  there  is  always  somebody  who  will 
rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable,  and  never  repent ; 
and  great  beauty  not  seldom  goes  with  great 
goodness.  But  in  this  most  solemn  transaction 
to  which  two  human  beings  can  come,  all  these 
questions  are  swept  aside,  and  wait  for  the 
question  of  fitness  to  be  settled  first.  Are  these 
two  the  counterparts,  not  of  dark  to  blonde  and 
the  underline  to  the  overline  in  stature,  but  of 
thought  and  feeling,  of  habit  and  tendency  of 


224  MARRIAGE. 

life  and  soul  ?  because,  as  a  rule,  these  we  can- 
not alter,  any  more  than  we  can  alter  decimals. 
That  is  what  the  Lord  means  when  he  bids 
the  man  and  woman  seek  each  other  for  hus- 
band and  wife. 

Then  again,  I  will  venture  to  say,  the  truest 
wedded  life  can  only  come  out  of  the  truest 
unwedded  life.  It  is  blank  folly  to  imagine  that 
a  woman  who  has  had  half  a  dozen  affairs  of  the 
heart,  as  they  are  called,  can  wed  a  man  who 
has  sown  his  wild  oats,  and  make  a  happy  match 
of  it.  "  Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the 
Lord  ?  Who  shall  abide  in  his  holy  place  ?  He 
that  hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart,  who  hath 
not  lifted  up  his  soul  unto  vanity,  nor  sworn 
deceitfully."  You  say,  that  means  the  merchant 
and  the  politician,  and  the  man  and  woman  who 
would  experience  religion  in  the  purest  and  loft- 
iest sense.  I  say  it  means  a  fitness  for  a  true 
wedding,  as  certainly  as  any  other  thing  we  can 
think  of.  There  is  no  reaeh  in  our  life  in  which 
these  great  first  things  can  be  more  essential, 
either  for  this  world  or  the  world  to  come.  I 
will  enter  into  no  particulars  :  you  know  all  these 
as  well  as  I  do.  You  can  say  it  is  seeing  life ; 


MARRIAGE.  225 

I  say  it  is  seeing  death :  it  is  building  a  closet 
to  hold  a  skeleton  in  the  Holy  of  Holies. 

Purity  and  truth,  as  absolute  as  that  of  the 
angels  of  God,  each  to  the  other,  from  the  day 
you  plight  your  troth  to  the  day  you  die,  are  also 
imperative ;  not  in  deed  alone,  but  in  thought 
and  word ;  and  not  only  towards  others,  but  in 
your  own  most  intimate  life.  There  is  a  forni- 
cation of  the  eyes,  Jesus  pays ;  and  leaves  us 
then  in  no  doubt  about  his  meaning.  He  means, 
that  men  and  women  may  see  each  other's  beau- 
ty and  grace  with  eyes  full  of  reverent  admira- 
tion, and  that  shall  be  a  blessed  sight  to  them  ; 
or  they  may  look  on  the  same  sight  with  eyes 
full  of  lust,  and  then  their  hearts  are  set  on  fire 
of  hell.  There  need  be  no  more  sin  beside  that 
evil  glance ;  there  is  fornication  from  that  moment 
in  the  substance  of  the  soul.  1  touch  no  im- 
possible mountain-peak  of  purity  when  I  tell 
you  this.  I  stand  among  sweet  home  places, 
where  the  best  men  and  women  live  the  truest 
wedded  life  to  be  found  on  this  planet,  and  the 
only  life  the  husband  and  wife  can  live  wor- 
thily. 

And  then  this  one  word  more.  The  wife  is 
15 


226  MARRIAGE. 

still  placed  by  law  and  custom  on  the  footstool, 
while  the  man  is  on  the  throne.  It  is  all  wrong ; 
and  the  time  is  coming  when  they  shall  "sit 
side  by  side,  full  summed  in  all  their  powers." 
Until  that  day  dawns  on  the  world,  we  must 
keep  its  morning  star  shining  through  our  own 
windows.  That  wife  is  the  rare  exception  who 
does  not  bear  a  full  half  of  the  burden,  and  as 
good  Mrs.  Payser  says  in  the  story,  "  Earn  one 
quarter  of  the  income  and  save  another."  It  is 
the  simplest  justice,  when  she  does  this,  to  give 
her,  not  one  third,  but  one  half  of  all  that  is  left 
when  we  are  through.  The  truest  thing  to  do, 
if  the  husband  dies  first,  is  to  leave  everything 
to  the  wife,  exactly  as  the  wife,  if  she  dies  first, 
leaves  everything  to  the  husband.  Every  will 
should  be  drawn  in  that  way,  as  the  last  expres- 
sion of  our  mutual  love  and  trust.  I  have  read 
wills  made  in  this  city,  by  men  who  died  in  the 
odor  of  sanctity,  over  which  I  should  think  the 
devil  would  chuckle,  so  true  they  were  to  the 
constitution  of  his  infernal  kingdom. 

A  pure  life,  from  the  day  we  become  respon- 
sible to  the  moment  we  are  revealed  to  each 
other  j  a  frank  and  open  communion  from  that 


MARRIAGE.  227 

day  to  the  wedding;  loyalty,  purity,  and  patience 
mingling  with  our  love  from  that  day  onward, 
and  this  true  expression  of  our  perfect  trust 
from  beyond  the  grave,  —  these  are  the  things 
that  go  to  a  true  wedding,  a  true  home,  and  a 
blessed  home  life. 


XL 

CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

LUKE  ix.  47,  48 :  "  Jesus  took  a  child  and  set  him  by  him, 
and  said  unto  them,  Whosoever  shall  receive  this  child  ia 
my  name  receiveth  me ;  and  whosoever  shall  receive  me  re- 
ceiveth  him  that  seat  me." 

IT  is  very  good  to  me,  in  reading  the  Bible,  to  no- 
tice how  much  of  the  interest  and  hope  of  the  world 
is  made  to  depend  on  the  children  that  are  unborn 
when  the  hope  springs  up,  resting  far  away  in  the 
future,  but  sure  to  come  when  God  will,  and  to 
bring  with  them  some  great  blessing  and  help. 
The  world  moves  on  through  the  ages,  and  the 
generations  come  and  go,  each  bearing  its  own 
burden,  and  fulfilling  its  own  destiny ;  and  to 
every  one  there  is  allotted  a  certain  share  of 
disappointment  and  sorrow,  and  the  failure  of 
hopes  and  expectations.  But  like  a  strain  of 
clear,  quiet  music  running  through  a  tumult  of 
clashing  discords,  the  promise  of  the  children  to 
be  born,  who  shall  do  what  the  fathers  failed  to 
do,  runs  through  the  generations,  from  Adam 

228 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        229 

to  the  advent  of  the  Holy  Child.  And  when  at 
last  this  child  is  born,  and  has  passed  through  his 
wonderful  career,  and  dies  on  the  cross,  so  strong 
is  the  conviction  that  it  is  in  the  birth  of  the  babe, 
not  the  death  of  the  martyr,  that  the  deepest  mean- 
ing is  hidden,  that  the  new  era,  the  year  of  our 
Lord,  as  we  call  it,  dates  from  the  manger,  and  not 
from  the  cross  ;  and  then,  though  the  preponderant 
weight  of  the  church  seems  constantly  to  have 
been  cast  into  the  balance  for  Easter,  and  though 
twenty  books  have  been  written  and  twenty  ser- 
mons preached  about  Calvary  to  one  about  Beth- 
lehem, they  have  never  as  yet  disturbed  this 
steady  human  instinct  that  has  left  Easter  to  the 
church,  and  taken  Christmas  into  the  home  ;  has 
replied  with  a  carol  to  every  sermon,  and  in- 
sisted that  the  greatest  day  of  the  two  was  that 
on  whose  morning  the  stars  shone  right  on  a 
stable,  and  the  angels  sang  about  "Peace  on 
earth,  and  good  will  to  men "  because  a  babe 
was  born,  and  was  sleeping,  as  they  sang,  in 
that  rude,  dark  place. 

This,  I  say,  is  a  remarkable  quality  in  our  Bible. 
It  is  no  less  so  as  a  fact  in  this  common  life  to 
which  the  Bible  is  a  perpetual  index  and  inspira- 


230  CfflLDEEN  AND   CHILDHOOD. 

tion.  What  was  true  in  that  old  world,  is  still 
true  in  the  new.  The  hope  of  humanity,  the  prom- 
ise of  the  world  to  come  on  this  planet,  rests  in 
the  children.  When  the  Spartans  replied  to  the 
king,  who  demanded  fifty  of  their  children  as 
hostages,  "  We  would  prefer  to  give  you  a  hun- 
dred of  our  most  distinguished  men,"  it  was 
only  an  expression  of  the  everlasting  value  of 
the  child  to  any  commonwealth  and  to  every 
age.  They  had  been  defeated,  but  their  hope 
was  that  the  children  would  conquer.  They 
had  done  their  best,  but  their  children,  they 
hoped,  would  do  better.  Sparta  would  rise 
again  from  the  cradle  and  the  nursery.  The 
new  hands  would  do  the  new  work,  and  the 
fresh  hearts  receive  the  fresh  inspiration ;  and 
so,  in  the  hope  that  still  shone  for  Sparta,  fifty 
children  were  of  more  value  than  a  hundred 
fathers.  It  was  a  truth  which  every  age  has,  in 
some  way,  to  learn.  The  great  hope  is  always 
in  the  new  birth.  It  is  in  the  next  new  life  that 
God  hides  the  next  new  thing  the  world  needs 
for  its  use.  The  time  comes  when  great  dis- 
coveries stop  short  of  their  consummation  for 
want  of  a  new  man,  and  no  more  new  discov- 


CHILD  BEN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        231 

eries  are  made.  When  the  church  is  certain  to 
fail  for  the  need  of  a  new  apostle  to  refresh  the 
old  truths  or  to  announce  the  new ;  when  the 
great  movement  that  began  with  one  reformer,  will 
thin  out  like  the  circles  on  the  water  if  it  cannot 
be  taken  up  and  carried  on  by  another,  and  when 
no  new  reform  can  find  a  man  to  storm  us  with 
great  burning  words  and  stand  for  it, —  length  of 
life  and  weight  of  wisdom  can  never  do  it.  When 
a  great  man  dies,  and  a  nation  weeps  for  his  un- 
timely end,  if  we  had  but  faith  like  a  grain  of 
mustard-seed,  we  should  grow  glad  again,  through 
our  tears  for  a  timely  beginning. 

"  Mortals  cry  a  man  is  dead ; 
Angels  sing  a  child  is  born." 

The  hope  of  mankind  is  not  in  the  old  life  so 
much  as  in  the  new  birth.  If  the  Marquis  of  Wor- 
cester had  lived  even  down  to  the  days  of  Watt, 
nobody  believes  he  would  have  added  "  Watt's 
steam  engine"  to  his  century  of  inventions. 
Franklin,  at  eighty-five,  was  as  far,  or  farther 
than  ever  from  inventing  Morse's  telegraph ;  Ser- 
vetus  and  Priestley  might  have  lived  as  long  as 
Methuselah  did,  and  they  would  never  have  done 


232        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

the  work  of  Charming  or  Parker,  of  Wilberforce 
or  Garrison,  or  Elizabeth  Fry,  or  Lucretia  Mott. 
"What  shall  we  do?  "  the  nation  cries ;  "  our  great 
men  are  dying  out."  It  is  not  in  the  hundred  dis- 
tinguished men,  but  in  the  fifty  undistinguishable 
children,  that  our  hope  lies.  This  preacher  has 
got  almost  to  the  end  of  his  tether ;  but  there  is 
a  three-year-old  child  standing  on  a  stool  preach- 
ing to  a-three-year-old  audience,  who  will  win  the 
world  to  a  sweeter  and  nobler  gospel  in  that  very 
pulpit.  All  posterity  stands  before  us  in  the 
presence  of  the  children  now  in  their  cradles,  or 
in  the  deep  mystery  of  Providence  towards  which 
the  world  is  always  looking;  and  every  genera- 
tion begins  the  history  of  the  world  anew. 

Now  this,  if  I  can  see  into  the  thing  at 
all,  must  be  the  deepest  reason  that  can  bo 
given  for  the  unspeakable  loyalty  and  reverence 
for  children  that  so  constantly  filled  the  heart 
and  life  of  Christ.  He  would  teach  us  in  this 
way  to  reverence  this  promise  that  lies  in  theni 
as  we  reverence  God,  because  within  it  is 
folded  all  that  is  most  glorious  and  good  in  the 
future.  It  seems  to  me,  as  I  watch  how  the  heart 
of  Jesua  is  drawn  to  children,  and  how  his  arms 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        233 

are  drawn  about  them,  that  he  is  always  saying 
to  us,  "  It  is  not  only  for  their  innocence,  for 
their  faith  and  trust,  and  for  the  heaven  I  see  in 
their  eyes,  I  do  this,  but  because  I  know  that 
within  them,  as  the  germ  within  the  seed,  and  the 
seed  within  the  earth,  lies  the  whole  future  har- 
vest of  blessing  to  mankind ;  "  and  I  think  if  he  had 
been  on  earth  to  hear  that  Swedenborgian  say 
one  Sunday  lately,  that  the  New  Church  of  God 
on  earth  began  in  1757,  he  would  have  replied, 
My  friend,  that  is  now  a  very  old  church,  the 
new  church  begins  now.  Into  a  stable  or  a  pal- 
ace, the  eternal  Providence,  to  which  you  trust 
so  clearly,  has  sent  a  child  who  will  tell  the  new 
truth  and  found  the  new  church  again  to-day, 
because  the  new  church  is  not  that  which  will 
garner  the  bones  of  a  dead  prophet,  but  that 
which  will  faithfully  work  out  the  will  of  God, 
as  it  is  announced  in  these  very  moments  by 
the  prophet  of  the  new  time.  I  never  said  of 
Moses,  what  I  now  say  of  this  little  one,  "  He  that 
receiveth  him  in  my  name,  receiveth  me,  and  he 
that  receiveth  me,  receiveth  him  that  sent  me," 
because  the  hope  of  the  world  rests  not  in  the 
sepulchre,  no  matter  what  may  be  its  beauty 


234       CHILDEEN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

and  splendor,  but  in  the  nursery,  though  it  be 
a  stable. 

1  have  tried  to  open  this  doctrine  to  this  light, 
because  I  want  now  to  consider  some  things  that 
belong  to  it,  as  the  branch  belongs  to  the  bole 
and  the  flower  to  the  root. 

If  it  be  true  then  that  the  hope  of  the  world  lies 
in  the  cradle,  not  only  that  our  life  may  go  on  at 
all,  but  that  it  may  constantly  reach  upward  to- 
wards nobler  and  better  things,  in  what  relation 
do  we,  who  are  now  responsible  for  this  new  life, 
stand  to  it  ?  and,  as  it  is  intrusted  to  our  care,  how 
do  we  deal  with  it  ?  If  to  receive  a  little  child 
in  the  name  of  Christ  is  so  awful  and  sacred  a 
thing,  that  when  I  do  so  I  receive  in  some 
wonderful  way  Christ  and  God  together  into 
my  home  and  heart,  what  am  I  doing  about  it ; 
how  much  do  I  believe  of  it  ?  Is  the  child  and 
its  childhood  a  very  common  and  common-place 
thing,  so  that  I  am  subjecting  it  to  my  conven- 
ience first,  and  then  to  all  my  whims  after  ?  or  is 
it  so  great  a  matter  that,  like  Israel  with  the 
ark,  only  the  most  sacred  hands  can  be  laid  on  it, 
and  things  done  for  it  as  it  rests  within  and 
encloses  the  light  and  the  shadow  of  God  ?  And 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        235 

in  saying  this,  I  must  fail  of  the  first  shred  of  the 
faithfulness  that  ought  to  stand  like  a  wall  of  fire 
about  every  pulpit  and  preacher,  if  I  did  not 
here  call  attention  to  the  outcry  that  is  raised 
on  all  sides  of  us  about  the  danger  that  is  now 
threatening  this  nation  through  the  baleful  de- 
crease in  these  blessed  gifts  from  God  that  are 
the  hope  and  treasure  of  the  world,  and  in  whom 
the  fairest  hope  of  this  nation  ought  to  rest.  I 
need  not  say  what  a  difficulty  I  encounter  in  touch- 
ing on  this  matter  in  any  way  ;  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  impossible  I  have  found  it  to  put  my  mean- 
ing into  words.  But  it  is  my  advantage  that  I 
speak  as  unto  wise  men  and  women,  who  need  no 
words  of  mine  beyond  this  hint.  I  speak  for 
that,  however,  which  ought  to  give  any  man 
courage  who  has  to  deal  with  these  sacred  things 
in  our  life,  when  I  say,  that  wherever  this  sin 
may  hide  itself,  and  under  whatever  name  it  may 
hide,  the  reason  for  it  is  no  better  than  is,  I  be- 
lieve, usually  given.  Then  there  is  a  word  to  say 
about  it  which  goes  deeper  than  that  of  the  physi- 
cian, the  political  economist,  or  the  patriot.  It  is, 
that  in  some  awful  sense  we  refuse  to  receive  God 
into  our  hearts  and  homes  when  hearing  this 


236        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

voice  saying  to  us,  "  Whoso  will  receive  one  of 
these  little  ones  in  my  name,  receiveth  me,  and 
he  that  receiveth  me,  receiveth  him  that  sent 
me  ;  "  we  break  down  the  footway  by  which  the 
divine  nature  was  trying  to  cross  over  to  us,  and 
then  think  that  somehow  we  have  circumvented 
Providence.  Foolish  and  vain  then,  as  foolishness 
and  vanity  is  our  belief  in  Trinity  or  Unity ;  we 
may  have  the  name  of  God,  but  we  have  put  God 
away.  Worthless  as  chaff  our  profession  of  re- 
ceiving God  in  Christ ;  he  stretched  out  his 
hands  then,  but  we  would  not  hearken.  Let  us 
pray,  "  Thy  kingdom  come  "  —  we  have  barred 
its  coming  to  the  best  of  our  ability,  and  if  it 
come  now,  it  will  be  in  spite  of  us.  0,  friends, 
bear  with  me,  you  that  are  spotless,  and  let  me 
speak,  for  there  may  be  guilt  somewhere,  that  my 
word  and  God's  word  may  startle.  I  tell  you, 
when  this  unspeakable  offence  is  done  to  Heaven, 
the  worst  possibility  is  not  what  we  may  have 
taken  from  the  measure,  but  from  the  hope,  and 
joy,  and  fulness  of  life.  It  is,  that  in  some  way, 
we  cannot  even  imagine,  we  may  have  made  the 
whole  world  poorer  by  what  we  have  done. 
What  loss  to  this  world,  if  once  such  a  sin  had 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        237 

been  hidden  away  in  Stratford-upon-Avon,  or  in 
the  poor  clay  biggin  two  miles  from  Ayr  in 
Scotland,  or  in  the  hut  eight  miles  from  New- 
castle in  England,  or  in  many  another  place 
shielded  and  shrouded  then,  as  our  homes  are 
now,  but  since  then  lifted  up  among  the  shining 
points  of  the  world!  It  may  be  that  it  needs 
be  such  offences  will  come,  but  woe  unto  that 
man  by  whom  the  offence  cometh.  I  could  wish 
no  worse  hell  for  my  worst  enemy,  if  I  ever 
take  to  bad  wishing,  than  that  one  should  haunt 
him  in  eternity,  who  might  have  come  and 
poured  a  mighty  treasure  into  the  commonwealth 
of  the  world,  but  for  that  sin  that  kept  him  out 
of  it.  But  I  leave  this  painful  possibility  for 
the  great  positive  truth  of  what  is  folded  in  the 
child  and  his  childhood,  and  what  we  are  to  do 
about  it. 

"  And  this  must  be  said  first,  that  if  we  are  wise 
and  faithful  to  our  trust  that  have  them,  there  is 
in  each  child  the  making  of  a  man  or  a  woman 
who  shall  be  a  blessing  and  be  blessed.  Men  and 
women  who  shall  add  their  mite  to  the  wealth 
of  the  world,  if  it  be  but  to  smite  with  the  ham- 
mer, or  to  stand  at  the  wash-tub,  and  open  a  way 


238        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

by  their  faithfulness  over  one  talent  for  the  trust 
of  two  or  ten.  It  is  not  for  us  to  make  oui  chil- 
dren great,  but  we  all  can  do  a  great  deal  towards 
making  them  good.  The  divine  ordination  that 
will  give  to  one  one  talent,  to  another  two,  and 
to  another  ten,  it  is  not  ours  to  control ;  but  the 
Holy  Spirit  that  will  make  the  future  man  or 
woman  faithful  over  that  which  they  have,  will 
be  sure  to  come  in  answer  to  the  prayer  which 
is  first  a  longing,  and  then  a  wise  and  loving 
endeavor  that  it  shall  be  so.  Great  influences, 
which  we  cannot  understand,  stretching  over 
the  whole  span  of  human  life,  will  make  one  man 
as  great  as  a  Mariposa  pine  and  another  as  small 
as  a  dwarf  pear ;  yet  in  its  degree  this  shall  be 
as  good  as  that,  while  the  sun  will  shine,  and  the 
rain  fall,  and  the  blessing  of  Heaven  rest  on 
both.  A  wise  and  witty  writer  has  said,  that  it 
is  about  equal  to  being  canonized  to  marry  into 
some  families;  but  Jesus  said,  "  Whosoever  shall 
receive  one  of  these  little  ones  in  my  name, 
receiveth  me,  and  he  that  receiveth  me,  receiveth 
him  that  sent  me ; "  and  then  saying  not  a  word 
about  which  little  one  he  meant,  or  what  family  it 
would  come  from,  he  left  the  sweet  faith  undis- 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        239 

turbed  in  every  mother's  and  father's  heart,  that 
their  own  little  ones  can  bear  with  them  this  best 
blessing  as  surely  as  any  others,  anywhere.  The 
possibility,  however,  is  that  the  little  one  may  be- 
come not  only  good  but  great ;  goodness  of  itself 
may  be  greatness,  as  it  was  in  Washington  and 
Lincoln ;  or  there  may  be  greatness  without  good- 
ness, as  the  vast  catalogue  of  mighty  men  who 
have  been  the  scourge  and  curse  of  the  race  can 
testify.  But  greatness  and  goodness  in  men  like 
Chalmers  and  Channing  among  the  preachers  of 
this  century,  and  others  in  every  walk  of  art,  and 
literature,  and  life,  —  these  combine  greatness  and 
goodness  together,  and  then  they  reach  the  loft- 
iest place  on  which  a  man  can  stand. 

This,  fathers  and  mothers,  is  the  deeper  possi- 
bility which  gathers  about  the  children  that  have 
come  to  you  from  God,  and  bring  God  when 
they  come  into  your  home  and  life.  They  may 
be  not  only  good  but  great — great  and  good 
together.  Yet  this  is  the  hidden  mystery  that 
only  God  himself  can  reveal,  as  he  reveals  him- 
self in  the  children  he  gives  us.  That  small 
hand,  tireless  in  mischief,  cutting  and  hammering 
at  things  until  you  are  distracted,  may  be  then 


240        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

and  there  feeling  its  way  towards  some  achieve- 
ment in  the  arts  that  shall  lighten  all  the  burdens 
of  life,  and  give  man  forevermore  a  new  advantage 
in  his  strife  with  nature.  There  may  be  a  surgeon, 
or  a  singer,  or  a  preacher,  or  a  painter,  or  a  man 
deep  and  wise  in  science,  or  in  government,  or  in 
the  comprehension  of  mind  or  matter ;  or  a  wo- 
man in  this  better  time  that  is  dawning  for  woman, 
whose  path  shall  be  as  the  sun,  shining  more  and 
more  unto  the  perfect  day,  —  these  may  be  among 
those  little  ones  coming  up  about  you  in  the 
home,  or  whom  you  are  teaching  in  the  school,  till 
you  are  so  weary  at  your  task  sometimes  that 
you  hardly  know  what  to  do.  This  is  the  clear 
certainty,  that  besides  the  regular  rank  and  file, 
—  the  men  who  are  always  needed  to  work  in 
the  common  day  of  the  world,  —  there  must  be 
mighty  men  in  the  new  generation,  as  there  have 
been  and  are  in  this.  Preachers  that  shall  win  the 
world  to  hear  them ;  reformers  who  shall  storm 
it ;  statesmen  who  shall  be  its  great  ministers,  and 
poets  who  shall  be  its  chief  singers,  —  all  the  men 
and  women  who  are  needed  to  make  the  next  age 
greater  and  better  than  this,  —  and  it  will  take  no 
small  pattern  in  anything  to  do  that ;  —  these  are 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        241 

all  coming  through  your  homes ;  they  are  in  their 
cradles,  or  waiting  on  the  holy  law  of  God  for 
their  time  to  be  born.  And  they  will  come  quietly 
into  the  world,  in  cities  and  backwoods,  in  the 
mansion  and  the  cabin,  and  in  the  cabin  more 
than  the  mansion,  for  the  first-born  sons  of  God 
always  seem  to  take  to  the  stable  and  the  manger. 
Then  in  some  way  they  will  at  last  begin  to  give 
hints  of  the  greatness  with  which  they  come 
invested.  None  will  know  it  except  their  mother; 
and  she  will  not  understand  it,  but  like  Mary,  she 
will  ponder  over  it,  and  hide  these  things  in  her 
heart ;  then  the  day  will  declare  it,  and  these 
great  ones  will  take  their  place  among  the  immor- 
tal men  and  women,  of  the  earth.  But  whether 
they  will  be  great  and  good  together,  or  only 
good;  able  to  win  the  world,  or  only  able  to 
cultivate  a  little  patch  of  its  soil  and  raise 
some  chickens ;  if  we  will  receive  them  in  the 
name  of  Christ,  we  receive  Christ  in  them  and 
God  also. 

Now  what  is  it  to  receive  a  child  in  the  name 

of  Christ  ?     In  answering  this  question,  I  want  to 

affirm  that  it  would  need  no  answer,  had  there  not 

been  so  many  mistakes  made  about  this  simple, 

16 


242        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

natural,  and  beautiful  truth  ;  if  one  man,  and  set 
of  men  and  dogmas  did  not  insist  that  every 
child  is  wholly  defiled  by  sin ;  needs  to  be  puri- 
fied in  the  atoning  blood ;  to  experience  a  change 
of  heart ;  and  be  as  soon  as  possible  subjected  to 
the  torture  that  is  called  by  these  teachers  "  get- 
ting religion."  The  first  time  a  father,  lost  in 
this  delusion,  looks  on  his  sleeping  babe,  there  is 
this  shadow  on  its  face  cast  by  the  defilement  he 
believes  in.  So  to  him  to  receive  the  little  one 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  is  to  subject  it  to  all  the 
troubles  which  come  in  the  train  of  the  father's 
black  foreboding ;  it  is  to  be  continually  told  of 
its  depravity,  until,  perhaps,  at  last  it  believes  in 
it ;  to  be  made  a  bond  slave  of  the  Sabbath,  and 
of  long  prayers  and  longer  sermons  ;  and  then  at 
last,  either  to  break  away  in  desperation  or  be 
born  again,  by  which  change  in  children,  good  as 
it  is  in  men,  I  often  observe  they  leave  behind 
them  everything  that  is  most  natural  and  beautiful 
in  their  childhood,  and,  in  giving  themselves  to 
God,  wrench  themselves  away  from  all  that  one 
thinks  God  would  love  to  see  hi  children,  if  we 
may  judge  what  he  loves  by  the  way  he  guides 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        243 

and  inspires  nearly  all  the  children  he  has  sent 
into  the  world. 

With  another,  to  receive  a  child  in  the  name 
of  Christ,  is  to  subject  it  to  an  endless  round  of 
outward  appliances ;  of  catechisms,  confirmations, 
and  prayers  said  at  stated  times  and  in  a  stated 
way,  until  the  sweet,  warm  life  takes  the  form  of 
the  mould  into  which  it  is  so  carefully  cast,  and 
loses  the  beautiful  fashion  it  brought  from  heaven, 
in  getting  ready  to  go  there ;  as  if  in  some  other 
country  a  man  should  train  his  children  for  a 
future  life  in  this  republic,  in  w]jich  a  certain 
self-command  and  power  to  meet  all  emergencies 
man-fashion,  are  indispensable,  should  fit  them  for 
this  life  by  training  them  to  the  drill  and  pipe-clay 
of  Austria  or  Russia.  Indeed,  this  doctrine  of 
what  it  is  to  receive  a  child  in  the  name  of  Christ, 
is,  I  think,  almost  endlessly  mistaken ;  while  the 
true  way  lies  open  before  us  all,  and  is  so  clear, 
that  if  we  were  not  pre-occupied  with  these  other 
ways,  I  do  not  see  how  we  could  possibly  mis- 
take it. 

For,  if  you  will  remember  for  a  moment  that 
double  name  by  which,  or  by  one  of  which, 
Christ  was  always  known  while  he  lived  in 


244        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

the  world,  —  the  Son  of  Man,  as  he  called  him- 
self, and  the  Son  of  God,  as  others  often  called 
him,  —  you  will  see  at  once  this  one  true  way  that 
instantly  closes  all  other  ways  whatever.  For  to 
receive  a  child  in  the  name  of  Christ,  is  just  to 
receive  it  in  both  these  names,  as  the  Son  of  Man 
and  the  Son  of  God  ;  and  then,  accepting  this  fact 
that  there,  as  it  lies  in  the  cradle  or  runs  through 
your  house,  is  a  being  bearing  in  its  life  this 
human  and  divine  nature  together ;  that  it  is 
your  child,  and  the  child  of  God.;  treat  it  as  it 
becomes  you « to  treat  a  being  holding  such  a 
glorious  inheritance ;  believe  in  the  treasure  that 
has  come  to  you  in  this  earthen  vessel,  and  value 
it  as  it  deserves ;  then  that  will  be  to  receive  the 
child  in  the  name  of  Christ.  It  is  first  to  receive 
the  child  as  you  would  have  received  Christ  him- 
self, if  your  home  had  been  selected  as  the  one 
into  which  he  should  be  born,  and  you  had  known 
what  grace  and  glory  was  folded  in  the  sleeping 
babe,  and  then  to  receive  it  as  your  own  life 
back  again,  —  the  life  of  God  and  your  life 
together ;  this  to  open  out  to  the  sun  and  wind 
of  this  world,  and  that  to  reach  upward  towards 
the  better  world  from  which  it  has  descended 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        245 

to  bless  you,  —  The  Son  of  Man,  and  the  Son  of 
God  both,  and  both  together ;  earth  and  heaven 
hidden  in  that  crib  in  your  chamber. 

And  so  we  come  directly  to  the  sight  of  two 
clear  principles  in  our  conduct  toward  these  little 
ones  ;  one  is,  that  wo  shall  guide  and  govern  with 
our  best  wisdom  and  love  the  son  of  man,  the  life 
that  is  of  the  earth,  earthy,  the  first  man,  as  Paul 
calls  him  ;  and  the  second  is,  that  we  shall  guard 
and  reverence,  with  a  faith  and  trust  as  great  as 
we  ever  put  into  our  worship  of  God,  the  Son  of 
God,  the  life  that  is  from  above.  I  remember 
Harriet  Martineau  tells  how,  when  she  had  grown 
to  be  quite  a  girl,  a  little  one  was  born  into  their 
home ;  and  as  she  would  look  at  it,  and  ponder, 
not  knowing  what  was  to  come  of  it,  she  got 
a  terror  into  her  heart  that  the  babe  would 
never  speak  or  walk,  or  do  anything  she  could  do ; 
because,  she  said,  How  can  it,  seeing  that  it  is  so 
entirely  helpless  now  ?  But  she  found,  when 
the  right  time  came,  the  feet  found  their  footing, 
the  tongue  its  speech,  and  everything  came 
along  in  its  own  time ;  and  then,  instead  of  the 
babe,  she  had  a  brother  who  was  able  to  take  her 
part,  and  teach  her  things  who  had  taught  him. 


24(5  CHILDREN    AND    CHILDHOOD. 

I  presume  it  is  her  brother  James  she  describes. 
And  so  the  babe  becomes  an  illustration,  when 
he  came  to  manhood,  of  the  hidden  greatness  and 
goodness  I  have  spoken  of,  together.  But  what 
I  mentioned  this  for,  was  the  illustration  it  gives 
of  a  very  common  latent  fear  in  the  hearts,  not  of 
sisters  so  much,  as  of  fathers  and  mothers,  that 
the  life  that  has  come  to  them,  and  is  their  life 
over  again,  will  not  scramble,  or  grow,  or  wrestle 
into  its  own  place  as  theirs  has  done.  They  have 
no  adequate  belief  in  the  hidden  man  folded  away 
within  the  small  frail  nature,  and  that  this  man 
will  walk  among  men,  and  talk  with  them  as  a 
man,  and  so  they  spend  the  better  part  of  their 
time  in  trying  to  order  afresh  what  our  wise 
mother  Nature  has  ordered  already.  This  is  all 
a  mistake,  every  time.  Make  sure  that  the  child 
will  walk  upright ;  that  it  has  fair  play  to  grow 
into  a  man  or  a  woman,  with  as  good  guidance 
and  as  little  interference  as  possible.  Have  faith 
in  the  Son  of  Man  in  the  -child,  and  if  you  are 
aware  that  there  has  been  sin  and  folly  in  your 
own  life,  guard  this  new  life  as  well  as  you  can 
from  the  consequences  of  that  sin  and  folly,  and 
then-  you  may  be  sure  that  there  is  quite  as 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        247 

good  a  hope  for  the  little  ono  as  ever  there  was 
for  you.  Give  it  freedom  and  fresh  air,  and  all  the 
teaching  it  can  stand,  without  exhausting  life  in 
getting  knowledge,  and  then  trust  the  rest  to 
God,  as  your  lathers  did  before  you ;  and  if  I 
know  anything  of  the  way  of  life,  there  will  be  a 
better  chance  in  this  new  world  and  new  time 
than  there  has  been  for  yourself. 

The  guardianship  of  the  Son  of  God  in  your 
little  one  is,  perhaps,  a  deeper  and  more  sacred 
matter ;  but  it  is  all  summed  up  in  a  word.  Do 
whatever  a  father  and  mother  may  do  to  reveal 
to  the  child,  not  his  baseness,  but  his  holiness ; 
not  that  he  must  be  depraved,  but  that  it  is  im- 
possible he  shall  not  be  good  and  noble.  When 
Dr.  Arnold  went  to  Rugby,  the  school  was  in  a 
frightful  condition,  and  it  was  considered  clever 
and  manly  to  do  the  basest  things,  and  then  to 
deceive  the  master  about  them.  Arnold  never 
for  one  moment  appeared  to  believe  he  was  being 
cheated.  He  said,  practically,  "  Boys,  I  will  not 
believe  in  your  depravity ; "  and  then  presently 
the  boys  were  all  saying,  "  What  a  shame  it  is  to 
lie  to  Arnold,  when  he  always  believes  you ;  "  then 
the  man's  faith  in  them  burnt  up  all  the  faithless- 


243        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

ness  in  their  hearts.  Believe  in  the  presence  of 
God  in  the  child,  I  say ;  and  if  you  find  you  must 
do  it,  you  may  believe  in  the  presence  of  the  devil, 
too ;  but  you  must  not,  and  cannot,  believe  in  hia 
masterhood. 

When  I  was  in  New  York  once,  I  received 
a  letter,  together  with  a  book,  from  a  lady,  a 
member  of  the  Society  of  Friends.  I  found  the 
book  to  be  the  Life  of  Isaac  T.  Hopper,  I  suppose 
one  of  the  noblest  men  in  his  way  this  country 
has  ever  known,  and  in  nothing  more  wonderful 
than  in  his  perfect  love,  and  trust  in  peace  and 
good  will  as  the  true  gospel  of  Christ.  But  the 
first  chapter  of  the  book  is  taken  up  with  a  re- 
cital of  the  deeds  of  mischief  done  by  Isaac 
when  he  was  a  child.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  chapters  of  childhood  I  ever  read. 
The  way  that  little  fellow  would  astonish  the 
good  Quakers  who  came  to  see  his  folks,  was  a 
marvel.  His  pranks  with  pins  and  twine,  and 
even  gunpowder,  cannot  be  told ;  not  a  doubt 
but  many  a  friend  went  away  feeling  that  if  ever 
the  unnamable  incarnation  of  evil  did  get  bodily 
into  a  boy,  and  stay  there,  that  little  Hopper  was 
the  "  all  possessed."  But  one  thing  was  steadily 


CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD.        249 

there  through  all  the  wild  pranks  the  lad  would 
play,  and  that  was,  a  certain  quick  reproof  of  con- 
science, —  the  good  striving  with  the  evil ;  and  a 
wise  mother  was  there  to  believe,  as  all  wise 
mothers  do,  that  what  was  good  was  very  good, 
and  the  evil  was  never  hopeless,  and  by  God's 
goou  blessing  on  the  boy,  and  her  wise  and  loving 
care,  it  would  all  come  right ;  and  so  she  found, 
at  last,  they  were  more  than  conquerors.  So  the 
mischief  of  a  child,  who  was  only  mischievous 
because  he  had  more  energy  than  he  knew  what 
to  do  with,  became  the  strength  of  a  man  among 
the  noblest  and  best  of  the  good  in  this  age.  It 
is  but  one  instance  in  a  thousand  of  a  nature  so 
full  of  life  in  our  own  children,  we  do  not  know 
what  we  shall  do  with  it ;  yet  while  we  are  fret- 
ting and  foreboding,  but  still  doing  the  best  we 
can,  the  unslumbering  Providence  is,  out  of 
seeming  evil,  still  educing  good:  touching  the 
conscience  when  we  do  not  know  it;  opening 
the  new  nature,  in  his  own  way  to  the  new 
heavens  and  new  earth  ;  raising  up  a  man  to  the 
Lord  ;  when  Jesus  said,  "  Whosoever  receiveth 
one  of  these  little  ones  in  my  name,  receiveth 
me,  and  he  that  receiveth  me.  receiveth  him  that 


250        CHILDREN  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

sent  me,"  he  made  no  distinction  as  to  the  kind ; 
they  were  all  alike  to  him;  they  all  held  this 
awful  and  wonderful  possibility  for  the  future  in 
their  nature  of  greatness  and  goodness.  So  we 
must  welcome  little  children  when  they  come  to 
us  as  the  fresh  presence  of  God  in  the  world  — 
the  new  creation  on  which,  and  in  which,  the 
whole  future  of  the  world  rests  in  the  love  and 
grace  of  God. 


XII. 

TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

PSALMS  xxxiv.  11-17 :  "  Come,  children,  listen  to  me,  and 
I  will  teach  you  how  to  serve  the  Lord.  Never  say  bad 
words,  nor  what  is  not  true.  Go  right  away  from  what  is 
bad ;  do  good ;  try  your  best  to  be  gentle  and  kind.  Then 
the  Lord  will  hear  you  when  you  cry  to  him  in  your  trouble, 
and  help  you  every  time." 

Tms  sermon,  as  I  said  last  Sunday,  is  all  for  the 
children,  and  not  for  the  men  and  women :  so  I 
have  tried  to  put  the  text  into  easy  words,  so 
that  children  may  know  what  it  means  as  soon  as 
I  read  it.  And  I  should  like  to  make  my  ser- 
mon as  plain  as  my  text ;  then  children  will 
know  what  my  sermon  means  too.  Sermons  are 
divided  into  three  parts.  I  am  not  quite  sure 
whether  a  sermon  can  be  a  sermon  if  it  is  not 
in  three  parts.  At  any  rate,  it  is  very  useful  to 
make  three  parts,  for  then  you  can  guess  how 
much  more  the  preacher  will  say:  and  little 
Hattie  Colly er  told  me  one  day,  she  was  so  glad 

251 


252        TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

when  I  said  thirdly  ;  for  she  knew  then  1  should 
soon  be  done.  Now,  my  three  parts  will  be 
three  all  in  one  to-day ;  and  every  one  will  begin 
with  the  same  letter.  First,  Tender;  second, 
Trusty ;  and  third,  True  :  and  I  want  in  the  ser- 
mon to  say  what  will  help  you  to  be  tender, 
trusty,  and  true.  I  am  very  glad  that  I  have 
found  such  a  nice  good  text  to  preach  from ;  it 
is  just  what  I  wanted :  and  I  hope  you  will  take 
care  not  to  forget  the  text.  When  I  was  a  boy, 
I  had  a  Bible  I  could  carry  to  church  in  my 
pocket ;  then  when  the  man  said,  "  You  will  find 
my  text  in  such  a  place,"  as  I  say  to-day,  I  used 
to  find  the  place,  to  put  a  mark  in  it,  and  then  to 
read  all  about  it  when  I  went  home.  I  wish  this 
were  done  by  the  children  in  this  school.  I  can 
tell  you,  children,  it  is  a  real  good  thing  to  do  j 
for  it  will  help  you  to  know  ever  so  much  more 
than  you  do  know  about  the  best  book  that  ever 
was  printed,  or  it  may  be  that  ever  will  be 
printed,  as  long  as  the  world  stands.  Well,  now, 
if  you  read  the  text  when  you  get  home,  and  the 
psalm  too,  you  will  find  that  King  David  wanted 
to  tell  young  folks  what  I  want  to  tell  you ;  that 
is,  first,  how  to  be  good ;  and  then  what  is  the 


TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE.        253 

use  of  being  good.  And  he  does  not  say,  "  I 
think  so,"  or,  "  It  may  be  so,"  but,  "It  is  so."  As 
if  he  had  said,  "  Now,  children,  you  just  trust  me. 
I  was  once  a  child  like  you.  I  am  now  a  man 
and  a  king.  I  can  see  away  back  to  the  time 
when  I  was  a  little  boy,  and  begged  honey  from 
my  mother,  and  cried  when  I  didn't  get  it.  1 
can  tell  just  what  was  good  for  me,  and  what  was 
bad ;  where  I  came  out  right,  because  I  began 
right ;  and  where  I  came  out  wrong,  because  I 
•  began  wrong ;  and  I  want  to  tell  you,  so  you 
may  know  what  to  do.  Come,  children,  listen 
to  me." 

I  can  remember  when  I  was  in  the  Sunday 
school,  and  had  just  begun  to  read  about  David, 
that  I  did  not  feel  sure  he  ever  was  a  real  baby, 
and  had  to  be  fed  with  a  teaspoon;  or  that  he 
ever  was  a  real  little  boy  that  went  to  school  as 
1  did,  and  played  marbles,  and  had  to  knuckle 
down,  and  had  a  peg-top,  a  jackknife,  some  slate 
pencils,  ever  so  many  buttons,  and  a  piece  of 
string,  all  in  one  pocket ;  that  he  ever  had  to  try 
hard  not  to  cry  when  he  went  to  school  very  cold 
mornings ;  or  that  the  teacher  spoke  sharp  to 
him  when  the  little  chap  had  tried  his  best  to  get 


254       TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

his  lesson,  and  did  not  get  it  very  well.  But  you 
know  ministers  have  got  to  find  out  all  about 
such  men  as  David  ;  and  I  have  found  out  enough 
to  make  me  feel  sure  he  was  once  a  little  boy, 
just  like  one  of  you  ;  and  had  to  get  verses,  like 
you ;  and  didn't  like  it,  like  you :  that  he  did  not 
like  to  go  to  bed  early,  like  you ;  or  to  get  up 
early,  like  you.  I  rather  fear  that,  in  the  sum- 
mer, he  ate  green  apples,  unripe  melons,  hard 
peaches,  and  sour  plums,  as  you  do;  and  got 
sick,  and  was  very  sorry,  and  had  to  take  medi- 
cine, as  you  do ;  and  said  he  would  never  do  it 
again  :  and  then  I  believe  he  never  did  do  it  again, 
after  he  promised  not  to;  which  I  hope  is  like 
you  also.  Now,  just  here  I  was  trying  to  see 
what  sort  of  boy  David  was  when  he  grew 
bigger ;  and,  as  I  shut  my  eyes,  and  so  tried  to 
see  it  all  clear,  I  heard  a  noise  right  under  my 
study  window.  This  was  about  four  o'clock, 
Friday  afternoon ;  the  schools  were  out,  and  the 
children  running  home.  I  turned  my  head  to 
see  what  was  the  matter,  and  then  I  saw  what  I 
want  to  tell  you.  About  ten  boys  were  standing 
together.  All  at  once  a  big  boy  knocked  a  little 
boy  down,  and  rolled  him  in  the  snow.  The 


TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE.       255 

little  boy  got  up,  and  said,  "What  did  you 
do  that  for  ?  "  Then  the  big  one  drew  off,  as  if 
he  was  going  to  do  it  again ;  and  I  believe  he 
would  have  done  it  as  bad  as  before,  but  the  small 
boy  walked  sobbing  away  towards  home. 

"  There,"  I  said,  when  I  had  seen  that, "  I  know 
what  David  never  did  do :  he  never  struck  a  boy 
that  was  no  match  for  him ;  he  never  was  a  coward 
Jike  that ;  for  he  is  a  coward  to  strike  a  small  boy 
so ;  and  those  others  are  not  the  boys  they  ought 
to  be,  to  stand  by  and  see  it  done."  I  saw  such 
a  ti.ing  in  a  picture  once ;  it  was  called  the  Wolf 
and  vhe  Lamb.  A  great,  cruel  boy  meets  a  small, 
delieax/e  lad  who  has  lost  his  father,  and  stands 
over  him  with  his  fist  doubled,  just  as  I  saw  that 
boy  staiitl  under  my  study  window.  I  think  if  any 
boy  in  this  church  were  to  see  that  picture,  he 
would  instantly  say,  "  What  a  shame  to  use  a  boy 
so  who  is  not  your  match  ! "  Once  I  read  in  the 
Life  of  Dr.  Channing,  who  was  one  of  the  best 
men  that  ever  lived  (a  great  deal  better  than 
David,  because  he  lived  in  a  better  time), 
what  ho  once  did  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  saw  a 
thing  like  that.  Little  Channing  was  one  of  the 
kindest  and  most  tender-hearted  boys  I  ever 


256       TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

heard  of.  I  will  tell  you  a  story  to  show  you 
how  kind  he  was,  and  tender,  and  true.  One 
day  he  found  in  a  bush  a  nest  full  of  young  birds 
just  out  of  the  shell.  Children,  did  you  ever 
see  a  nest  full  of  birds  just  out  of  the  shell  — 
little  tiny,  downy  things,  with  hardly  more  feath- 
ers than  an  oyster?  These  birds  were  just  so 
when  William  Channing  found  them ;  and  when 
he  touched  them  with  his  finger,  to  feel  how  soft 
and  warm  they  were,  they  all  began  to  gape,  very 
much  as  you  do  when  I  preach  a  very  long  ser- 
mon. Well,  little  Channing  knew  the  birds  did 
not  gape  because  he  preached  a  long  sermon,  but 
because  they  were  hungry.  So  what  did  he  do 
but  run  right  away,  get  some  nice  soft  crumbs, 
and  feed  them ;  and  after  that,  every  time  school 
was  out,  he  ran  to  feed  his  birds.  But  one  day, 
when  he  went  to  the  nest,  there  it  lay  on  the 
ground,  torn  and  bloody,  and  the  little  birds  all 
dead ;  and  the  father-bird  was  crying  on  the  wall, 
and  the  mother-bird  was  crying  on  a  tree.  Then 
little  Channing  tried  to  tell  them  that  he  did  not 
kill  their'poor  young  brood ;  that  he  never  could 
do  such  a  mean,  cruel  thing  as  that ;  that  he  had 
tried  to  feed  them,  and  help  them  along,  so  they 


TEND.CB,   TRUSTY.    AND   TBUE.  257 

might  fly.  But  it  was  no  use ;  he  talked  baby 
talk  to  them  as  you  do  to  your  little  sister.  They 
could  not  understand  him,  but  just  kept  on  cry- 
ing; so  then  he  sat  down  and  cried  too.  Now 
this  was  the  sort  of  boy  Channing  was ;  and  I 
was  going  to  tell  you  that  one  day  he  heard  of  a 
big  boy  beating  a  little  one,  like  that  one  under 
my  window.  Channing  was  a  little  boy ;  he  was 
a  little  man  when  he  was  full  grown ;  but  then  he 
had  a  big  soul.  I  was  going  to  say  he  had  a  soul 
as  big  as  a  church ;  but  indeed  his  soul  was  big- 
ger than  all  the  churches  in  the  world ;  —  and 
when  he  heard  of  that,  he  went  right  to  the  boy, 
e%er  so  much  larger  than  he  was,  and  said,  "  Did 
you  strike  that  little  boy?"  "Yes,  I  did;  and 
what  then  ? "  "  Then,"  said  Channing,  "  you  are 
a  coward,  because  he  was  no  match  for  you ;  and 
now  I  am  going  to  whip  you  for  doing  it."  Be- 
cause he  had  a  big  soul,  though  he  was  a  small 
boy,  he  went  in,  and  did  handsomely ;  and  that 
was  the  only  time  he  ever  fought  in  his  life.  And 
I,  standing  in  this  pulpit,  honor  him  more  for  it 
than  if  he  had  never  fought  at  all.  Boys,  I  like 
peace  ;  I  like  to  see  you  play  like  good,  true- 
hearted  little  men.  Never  fight  if  you  can  help 
17 


258  TENDER,  TRUSTY,   JtKD  TEUEv 

it ;  but  never  strike  a  boy  who  is  no  match  for 
you,  and  never  stand  by  quietly  while  another 
boy  is  doing  it.  Tender  and  true,  boys ;  tender 
and  true.  King  David,  King  Alfred,  George 
Washington,  William  Channing,  Theodore  Parker, 
more  great  men  than  I  can  name,  were  all  that 
sort ;  and  they  came  out  right  because  they  went 
in  right.  Brave  as  lions,  true  as  steel,  with  kind 
hearts  for  doves  and  ravens  and  sparrows,  they 
would  never  tear  birds'  nests,  or  sling  stones  try- 
ing to  kill  birds,  because  they  felt  as  Jesus  did 
when  he  said,  "  Blessed  are  the  merciful." 

To  see  David  when  he  was  a  boy,  you  might 
think  there  was  not  much  in  him,  because  he  wfts 
so  tender-hearted ;  because  he  would  not  strike, 
or  pinch,  or  prick  with  a  pin,  a  boy  that  was  no 
match  for  him,  or  take  his  jackknife,  or  split  his 
top,  or  spoil  his  kite.  But  look  out  for  a  tender- 
hearted lad.  I  tell  you,  he  can  flash,  and  strike 
too,  when  the  right  time  comes.  Why,  just  look 
at  this  very  David  !  One  day,  when  he  had  grown 
big  enough  to  stay  with  the  sheep,  there  came 
along  a  bear,  and  another  day  a  lion ;  and  each  of 
them  seized  a  lamb,  and  was  making  off  with  it. 
Now,  what  do  you  think  that  boy  under  my  win- 


TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE.        259 

dow  would  have  done  if  he  had  been  in  David's 
place  ?  I  believe  he  would  have  run  away,  and 
left  his  sheep.  What  did  David  do  ?  I  will  tell 
you.  He  had  a  staff,  you  know,  made  out  of  good 
sound  wood,  with  a  crook  at  one  end  and  a  spike 
at  the  other,  and  both  times  he  made  after  the 
wild  beast ;  gave  him,  I  suppose,  the  hardest 
knock  he  knew  how  to  give  with  the  crook,  and 
then  fought  him  with  the  pike.  There  was  a 
soldier,  living  only  six  miles  from  our  house  when 
I  was  a  boy,  who  fought  a  Bengal  tiger  once  in 
India  with  nothing  but  a  bayonet,  and  killed  him 
after  a  tremendous  struggle.  I  guess  David  had 
a  hard  time  with  the  lion  and  the  bear:  but 
he  says  the  Lord  helped  him ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  he  did.  I  believe  the  Lord  helped  little 
Channing  to  fight  that  big  bad  boy  in  Rhode 
Island,  because  Channing  was  on  the  Lord's  side  ; 
and  you  know  that  the  hymn  we  sing  so  often 
after  sermon  says,  — 

"  He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God; 
To  him  no  chance  is  lost." 

Which  is  just  as  true  as  gospel. 

Well,  then,  there  is  another  thing  I  want  to 
say.     These  men  I  mentioned  were  not  only  good 


260        TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

and  kind,  and  true  as  steel,  but,  when  they  said  a 
thing,  you  might  be  as  sure  it  was  true  as  if  you 
had  seen  it  twenty  times  over.  I  think  David 
did  sometimes  get  into  mischief.  I  suppose  he 
spilled  the  milk  once ;  but  I  am  sure,  if  he  did, 
he  did  not  blame  the  cat.  I  guess  he  tore  his 
jacket  rambling  after  olives ;  but  if  he  did,  I 
know  he  did  not  say  a  big  boy  tore  it  as  he  came 
home  from  school.  I  think  he  had  to  take  a 
whipping  now  and  then :  if  he  had,  I  believe  he 
just  stood  up,  and  took  it  like  a  man.  This, 
children,  this  being  true  is  a  great  thing.  If 
you  ask  me  which  is  worse,  to  be  cruel  to  small 
boys  and  kittens  and  birds  or  to  teh1  a  lie,  I  really 
could  not  teh1  you.  Now  I  think  it  is  this,  and 
then  1  think  it  is  that :  they  are  both  as  bad  as 
bad  can  be.  And  now  I  want  to  teh1  you  a  little 
story  of  a  little  boy  who  was  ah1  three  —  tender 
and  trusty  and  true ;  and  then  I  will  be  through 
with  my  sermon. 

Away  off,  I  believe,  in  Edinburgh,  two  gentle- 
men were  standing  at  the  door  of  a  hotel  one 
very  cold  day,  when  a  little  boy,  with  a  poor, 
thin,  blue  face,  his  feet  bare,  and  red  with  the 
cold,  and  with  nothing  to  cover  him  but  a  bundle 


TENDER,   TRUSTY,    AND   TRUE.  261 

of  rags,  came  and  said,  "  Please,  sir,  buy  some 
matches  ?  "  "  No :  don't  want  any,"  the  gentle- 
man said.  "  But  they  are  only  a  penny  a  box," 
the  little  fellow  pleaded.  "  Yes ;  but  you  see 
we  do  not  want  a  box,"  the  gentleman  said  again. 
"  Then  1  will  gie  yo  twa  boxes  for  a  penny,"  tho 
boy  said  at  last.  "  And  so,  to  get  rid  of  him," 
the  gentleman,  who  tells  the  story  in  an  English 
paper,  says,  "  I  bought  a  box.  But  then  I  found 
I  had  no  change  :  so  I  said, '  I  will  buy  a  box  to- 
morrow.' '  0,  do  buy  them  the  nicht,  if  you 
please/  the  boy  pleaded  again.  1 1  will  rin  and 
get  ye  the  change ;  for  I  am  verra  hungry.'  So  I 
gave  him  the  shilling,  and  he  started  away ;  and 
I  waited  for  him,  but  no  boy  came.  Then  I 
thought  I  had  lost  my  shilling ;  but  still  there 
was  that  in  the  boy's  face  I  trusted,  and  I  did  not 
like  to  think  bad  of  him.  Well,  late  in  the  even- 
ing, a  servant  came,  and  said  a  little  boy  wanted 
to  see  me.  When  he  was  brought  in,  I  found  it 
was  a  smaller  brother  of  the  boy  that  got  my 
shilling,  but,  if  possible,  still  more  ragged  and 
poor  and  thin.  He  stood  a  moment  diving  into 
his  rags,  as  if  he  was  seeking  something ;  and 
then  said, '  Are  you  the  gentleman  that  bought 


262       TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

the  matches  frae  Sandie  ?  '  '  Yes.'  '  Weel, 
then,  here's  fourpence  oot  o'  yer  shillin'.  Sandie 
canna  come :  he's  no  weel.  A  cart  run  ower  him, 
and  knocked  him  doon,  and  he  lost  his  bonnet,  and 
his  matches,  and  your  sevenpence  ;  and  both  his 
legs  are  broken  ;  and  he's  no  weel  at  a',  and  the 
doctor  says  he'll  dee.  And  that's  a'  he  can  gie 
ye  the  noo/  putting  fourpence  down  on  the  table  ; 
and  then  the  poor  child  broke  down  into  great 
sobs.  So  I  fed  the  little  man,"  the  gentleman 
goes  on  to  say,  "  and  then  I  went  with  him  to  see 
Sandie.  I  found  that  the  two  little  things  lived 
with  a  wretched,  drunken  step-mother ;  their 
own  father  and  mother  were  both  dead.  I  found 
poor  Sandie  lying  on  a  bundle  of  shavings :  he 
knew  me  as  soon  as  I  came  in,  and  said,  '  I  got 
the  change,  sir,  and  was  coming  back ;  and  then 
the  horse  knocked  me  doon,  and  both  my  legs  are 
brocken.  And,  0  Reuby,  little  Reuby  !  1  am 
sure  I  am  dee'in !  and  who  will  take  care  o'  ye, 
Reuby,  when  I  am  gane  ?  What  will  ye  do, 
Reuby  ?  '  Then  I  took  the  poor  little  sufferer's 
hand,  and  told  him  I  would  always  take  care  of 
Reuby.  He  understood  me,  and  had  just  strength 
to  look  at  me  as  if  he  would  thank  me ;  then 


TENDER,   TRUSTY,   AND   TRUE.  263 

i 

the  light  went  out  of  his  blue   eyes ;  aud,  in  a 
moment, 

'  He  lay  within  the  light  of  God, 
Like  a  babe  upon  the  breast ; 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 
And  the  weary  are  at  rest.' " 

Come,  children,  listen  to  me,  and  I  will  teach 
you  there  is  but  one  way  :  it  is  to  be  tender  and 
trusty  and  true.  Whenever  you  are  tempted  to 
tell  what  is  not  true,  or  to  be  hard  on  other  little 
boys  or  girls,  or  to  take  what  mother  has  said 
you  must  not  take,  I  want  you  to  remember  little 
Sandie.  This  poor  little  man,  lying  on  a  bundle 
of  shavings,  dying  and  starving,  was  tender  and 
trusty  and  true  ;  and  so  God  told  the  gentleman 
to  take  poor  little  friendless  Reuby,  and  be  a 
friend  to  him.  And  Sandie  heard  him  say  he 
would  do  it — just  the  last  thing  he  ever  did 
hear  ;  and  then,  before  I  could  tell  you,  the  dark 
room,  the  bad  step-mother,  the  bundle  of  shavings, 
the  weary,  broken  little  limbs,  all  faded  away,  and 
Sandie  was  among  the  angels.  And  I  think  the 
angels  would  take  him,  and  hold  him  until  one 
came  with  the  sweetest,  kindest  face  you  evei 
saw :  and  that  was  Jesus  who  said,  "  Sufiei 
the  little  child  to  come  unto  me ; "  and  ho  tooi 


264       TENDER,  TRUSTY,  AND  TRUE. 

him  in  his  arms,  and  blessed  him.  And  then 
Sandie's  own  father  and  mother  would  come,  and 
bear  him  away  to  their  own  home,  for  in  our 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions ;  and  there 
Sandie  lives  now.  And  I  think  that  the  angels, 
who  have  never  known  any  pain,  who  never  wore 
rags  or  sold  matches,  or  were  hungry  or  cold, 
came  to  look  at  Sandie  in  his  new  home,  and 
wonder,  and  say  one  to  another,  "  That  is  the 
little  man  who  kept  his  word,  and  sent  back  four- 
pence,  and  was  tender  and  trusty  and  true  when 
he  was  hungry  and  faint,  and  both  his  legs  were 
broken,  and  he  lay  a-dying."  •  And  Sandie  would 
only  find  out  what  a  grand  good  thing  he  had 
done  when  he  was  right  home  there  in  heaven. 
But  I  tell  you  to-day,  little  children,  because, 
whether  it  be  hard,  or  whether  it  be  easy,  I  want 
you  to  be  as  tender  and  trusty  and  true  as  Sandie. 


XIII. 

PATIENCE. 

JAMES  i.  4 :  "  Let  patience  have  her  perfect  work." 

THIS  apostle,  in  speaking  of  patience,  intimates 
that  it  is  not  a  belonging,  but  a  being,  a  spirit 
separate,  in  some  manner,  from  the  human  spirit, 
as  the  angels  are  ;  trying  to  do  something  for  us, 
but  only  able  as  we  will  give  it  free  course ;  so 
that  his  charge  to  his  fellow  Christians  all  the 
world  over,  to  let  patience  have  her  perfect  work, 
is  not  so  much  that  we  shall  do  something,  as  that 
we  shall  let  something  be  done  for  us.  All  the 
help  required  of  us  towards  patience,  is  not  to 
hinder  her  working ;  then  she  will  do  all  that  is 
needed,  in  her  own  time  and  in  her  own  way,  and 
we  shall  be  perfect  and  entire,  lacking  nothing. 
So  that,  when  a  man  or  woman  says,  "  I  will  have 
patience,"  they  speak  closer  to  the  truth  than  when 
they  say,  "  I  will  be  patient."  To  say,  "  I  will  be 
patient,"  has  a  touch  of  assumption  in  it ;  to  say, 

265 


266  PATIENCE. 

"I  will  have  patience,"  denotes  humility.  The 
one  word  means,  1  will  be  what  I  will ;  the  other, 
I  will  be  what  God  will  help  me  be.  It  is  as  if 
one  man  said,  "I  will  be  learned,"  and  another 
said,  "  I  will  have  learning."  And  a  very  brief 
reflection  will  enable  us  to  see  that  the  apostle  is 
borne  out  in  this  happy  distinction  by  the  nature 
and  grace  of  things  as  we  see  them  all  about  us, 
and  by  what  we  feel  within  us.  Patience  is  not 
there  to  begin  with.  It  is  no  inborn  grace,  like 
love.  It  comes  to  us  by  and  by,  and  tries  to  find 
room  in  our  nature,  and  to  stay  and  bless  us,  and 
so  make  us  altogether  its  own. 

The  first  thing  we  are  aware  of  in  any  healthy 
and  hearty  child,  is  the  total  absence  and  destitu- 
tion of  this  spirit  of  patience.  No  trace  of  it  is 
to  be  discovered  in  the  eager,  hungry  outcries, 
and  the  aimless,  but  headstrong,  struggles  against 
things  as  they  are,  and  must  be,  but  that  never 
would  be  for  another  moment  if  these  young  lords 
and  kings  of  impatience  could  have  their  way. 
But  presently  Patience  comes,  and  rests  on  the 
mother's  lifted  finger  as  she  shakes  it  at  the  tiny 
rebel,  and  puts  a  tone  he  has  never  heard  before 
within  the  tender  trills  of  her  voice,  and  he  looks 


PATIENCE.  267 

up  with  a  dim  sort  of  wonder,  as  if  he  would  say, 
What  is  that?  But  if  the  spirit  be  really  and 
truly  with  the  mother,  it  goes  then  to  the  child, 
and  sheds  upon  him  the  dew  of  its  blessing. 

Then,  in  a  few  years,  she  looks  at  him  out  of 
the  face  of  the  old  kitchen  clock.  It  seems  im- 
possible that  this  steady-going  machine  should 
be  so  impassive,  and  persist  in  that  resistless 
march ;  should  not  be  quick  to  strike  the  hour  he 
would  drag  before  its  time  out  of  the  strong 
heavens,  or  should  not  delay  a  little  as  he  sits  in 
the  circle  when  the  day  is  done,  and  dreads  the 
exodus,  at  the  stroke  of  eight,  to  his  chamber. 
Poor  little  man !  he  has  got  into  the  old  sorrow. 
It  is  not  the  clock,  but  the  sun  and  stars  he  would 
alter,  and  the  eternal  ways. 

Then,  as  the  child  passes  into  the  boy,  he  has 
still  to  find  this  angel  of  patience.  It  is  then 
very  common  for  him  to  transfer  his  revolt  from 
the  sun  to  the  seasons.  If  he  is  in  the  coun- 
try, he  rebels  at  the  slow,  steady  growth  of 
things;  they  never  begin  to  come  up  to  his 
demand.  It  is  with  all  boys  as  it  was  with  John 
Sterling.  His  father  gave  him  a  garden-bed,  to 
till  as  he  would ;  and  he  put  in  potatoes.  They 


268  PATIENCE. 

did  not  appear  when  he  thought  they  should ;  BO 
he  dug  them  out,  and  put  in  something  else ;  and 
so  he  kept  on  digging  in  and  out,  all  one  summer, 
because 'the  things  sprouted  and  bloomed  atonce  in 
his  hot  little  heart,  like  Jonah's  gourd.  It  was  an 
instance  of  the  whole  boy  life.  Nature  can  never 
come  up  to  his  notion  of  what  she  ought  to  do 
until  Patience  comes  to  help  him.  She  shows 
him  at  last  that  the  seasons  must  have  their  time, 
and  he  must  bring  his  mind  and  action  into  accord 
with  the  everlasting  order ;  for  without  that  he 
can  do  nothing. 

But  every  boy,  of  any  quick,  strong  quality, 
struggles  with  things  as  they  are  and  must  be  — 
wants  to  alter  them  to  suit  himself.  It  seems  as 
if  he  had  brought  the  instinct,  but  lost  the  mem- 
ory, of  a  world  and  life  that  were  just  what  he 
wanted ;  and  he  cannot  give  it  up  until  this  an- 
gel comes  and  helps  him  conform  to  his  new 
condition,  and  he  only  minds  her  at  last  when 
he  feels  he  must.  The  only  children  in  whom 
she  has  her  perfect  work  are  those  small  martyrs 
that  begin  to  suffer  as  soon  as  they  begin  to 
live,  and  are  never  released  from  their  pain 
until  God  takes  them  to  his  breast  in  heaven. 


PATIENCE.  209 

There  is  no  such  patience  besides  as  they  show, 
as  there  is  no  such  pity  besides  as  they  win. 

But  your  big,  healthy  boy  fights  it  out,  hard 
and  long ;  nothing  is  just  as  he  wants  it.  Christ- 
mas comes  like  a  cripple,  and  school,  when  the 
holidays  are  over,  like  a  deer.  It  is  a  shame 
cherries  and  apples  will  not  ripen  sooner,  and 
figures  find  their  places  more  tractably,  and  ge- 
ographies run  as  straight  as  a  line.  He  knows  no 
such  felicity  besides  as  to  run  to  a  fire,  or  after 
a  ball,  or  to  burn  fireworks,  or  scamper  away 
on  a  horse.  The  reason  is  just  that  which  we  al- 
ways give  as  we  watch  him,  when  we  say,  "  Now 
he  is  in  his  element."  He  is  striking  out,  like  a 
strong  swimmer,  on  a  splendid  tide  of  impatience. 
He  hears  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore,  and 
deep  calleth  unto  deep  in  his  heart. 

It  is  easy  to  see,  again,  that  these  habits  of  the 
child  and  boy  are  only  the  germs  of  a  larger  im- 
patience in  the  youth  and  the  prime.  We  soon  get 
our  lesson  from  the  angel  about  the  kitchen  clock, 
and  the  courses  of  the  sun,  and  the-  limits  of  our 
power  to  make  this  world  turn  the  other  way. 
We  learn  to  come  to  time,  and  set  ourselves  to 
its  steady  dictation  in  all  common  things;  and 
patience,  so  far,  has  her  perfect  work. 


270  PATIENCE. 

I  wonder  to  see  the  patience  of  some  children, 
at  last,  about  what  they  know  they  have  got  to 
do  and  be,  in  their  tasks  and  strivings.  I  see 
small  girls  of  ten  who  might  well  shame  big  men 
of  forty  as  they  buckle  to  their  lessons,  and  go 
steadily  through  them ;  and  even  boys  are  some- 
times almost  admirable ;  though  the  angel  of  Pa- 
tience must  always  feel  about  boys,  I  think,  as 
that  man  in  New  York  must  feel,  who  keeps  in 
the  same  cage  the  cat  and  the  canary,  and  the 
mouse  and  the  owl,  with  half  a  dozen  more  of 
the  sharpest  antagonisms  of  nature.  Patience 
must  feel  about  boys  as  that  man  feels  about  his 
animals,  —  that,  after  all  his  pains,  there  is  no  tell- 
ing what  they  may  do  at  any  moment. 

But  if  the  boy  does  learn  all  he  ought  to 
learn  about  times  and  seasons,  and  tasks  and 
treats,  and  lines  and  limits,  it  is  very  seldom  that 
the  lesson  holds  good  as  he  begins  the  march  to 
his  manhood,  or  when  he  gets  there.  Patience, 
then,  has  to  teach  him  deeper  things :  time  still 
says  one  thing  and  his  desire  another,  and  he 
hungers  again  for  what  God  has  forbidden  in  the 
very  condition  of  his  life.  But  now  it  is  unspeak- 
ably more  serious  than  it  was  ten  years  ago,  as 


IATTENCE.  271 

ehe  comes  to  him  and  tries  to  teach  him  her  great 
lesson.  She  has  to  remember  what  myriads  of 
young  men,  strong,  and  eager,  and  headstrong  as 
he  is,  have  broken  away  from  her,  after  all,  like 
the  impatient  prodigal  in  the  Gospels,  and  have 
only  come  back  and  listened  to  her  word  when 
they  had  run  through  their  whole  possessions ; 
and  had  to  be  patient  under  pain  and  loss,  when 
they  might  tave  rejoiced  with  exceeding  joy  over 
powers  incorruptible,  undetiled,  and  of  a  peren- 
nial strength  and  grace. 

Fortune  and  position,  weight  for  weight,  with 
what  faculty  the  Maker  has  given  him,  is  just 
as  sure  to  come  to  a  man  in  this  country  as  the 
crop  to  the  farmer  and  the  web  to  the  weaver, 
if  he  will  only  let  this  angel  have  her  perfect 
work.  The  bee  does  not  more  surely  lay  up  her 
honey,  or  the  squirrel  his  nuts  in  store,  enough 
to  last  until  May  brings  the  new  bloom,  and  the 
tender  shoots  break  forth  in  the  woods,  than  a 
man,  with  the  same  temperate  and  enduring  ps, 
tience,  can  lay  up  life  enough,  and  all  life  needs, 
to  last  him  from  the  time  when  the  frost  seals  his 
faculties  to  the  new  spring  that  waits  where  the 
Lord  is  the  Sun.  But  what  multitudes  want  to 


272  PATIENCE. 

do,  is  to  trust  themselves  to  some  short  cut 
across  the  dominion  of  the  sworn  enemy  of  this 
angel. 

Travellers  in  India  tell  us  they  have  seen 
a  magician  make  an  orange  tree  spring,  and 
bloom,  and  bear  fruit,  all  in  half  an  hour.  That 
is  the  way  many  believe  fortune  ought  to  come. 
They  cannot  wait  for  its  patient,  steady,  sea- 
sonable growth;  that  is  all  too  slow,  as  the 
time-piece  and  garden-bed  are  to  the  child; 
they  must  put  the  time-piece  forward,  and  that 
will  bring  thanksgiving,  and  gather  their  crop 
when  they  sow  their  seed.  Patience  comes  and 
whispers,  "  It  will  never  do ;  the  perfect  work  is 
only  that  done  by  my  spirit;  the  magician  can 
never  bring  his  thirty-minute  oranges  to  market, 
because  they  can  never  nourish  anybody  as  those 
do  that  come  in  the  old  divine  fashion,  by  the  pa- 
tient sun  and  seasons."  He  gives  no  heed  to  the 
wise,  sweet  counsels;  takes  his  own  way;  and 
then  if  he  wins,  finds  that  somehow  he  has  lost 
in  the  winning ;  the  possession  is  not  half  so  good 
as  the  expectation :  but  the  rule  is,  that  the  man 
who  will  not  let  Patience  have  her  perfect  work 
in  building  up  his  position  and  fortune,  ends  bare 


PATIENCE.  273 

of  both,  and  has  nothing  but  a  harvest  of  bairen 
regrets. 

No  man,  again,  comes  to  middle  age  without 
finding  that  this  is  the  truth  about  all  the  noble 
sensations  that  give  such  a  color  and  grace  to 
our  life,  and  are  such  loyal  ministrants  to  its  bless- 
ing, if  we  can  say  "  No  "  to  the  enemies  of  our 
good  angel  when  they  come  and  counsel  us  to 
disregard  her  ways,  to  let  our  passions  take  the 
bit  in  their  teeth,  and  go  tearing  where  they  will. 

Twenty  years  ago  last  June,  when  I  had  been 
a  few  weeks  in  this  country,  I  tasted,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  an  exquisite  summer  luxury ;  ai  d 
it  seemed  so  good  that  I  thought  I  oould  never 
get  enough  of  it.  I  got  some  more,  and  then 
some  more,  and  then  I  found,  for  the  first  time, 
I  think,  what  it  is  to  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  I  ate,  that  day,  of  the  tree  of  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil;  and  now  I  care  nothing  for 
that  good  thing  any  more  when  I  taste  it.  The 
angel  is  there  with  his  flaming  sword,  insisting 
that  I  shall  only  eat  of  it  out  of  Eden.  It  has 
been  to  me  ever  since  a  parable  of  this  deep  old 
verity.  I  disregarded  the  angel  whispering, 
"  You  had  better  take  care :  if  you  eat  that  for  a 
18 


274  PATIENCE. 

steady  diet,  through  a  whole  June  day,  you  do  it 
in  spite  of  me ;  the  hunger  for  some  more,  which 
has  been  growing  all  your  life,  is  a  pledge  that 
the  good  of  this  will  abide  with  you  as  long  as 
you  live,  if  you  will  always  let  hunger  wait  on 
appetite."  I  had  no  idea  of  doing  that.  Impa- 
tience got  the  rein,  and  I  gathered  and  ate  the 
whole  harvest  of  that  good  thing  between  dawn 
and  dark.  I  mention  this,  because  it  is  one  of 
those  experiences  we  all  buy  at  a  great  price  by 
the  time  we  are  forty,  and  then  offer  to  give  them 
away  to  young  friends  of  twenty,  but  can  seldom 
find  anybody  who  wants  them.  In  our  youth,  it 
is  our  misfortune,  in  a  great  many  of  these  ways, 
to  refuse  to  let  Patience  have  her  perfect  work, 
and  then  to  rue  it  as  long  as  we  live. 

Every  glass  of  wine,  or  dram  of  whiskey,  drunk 
by  a  healthy  and  strong  young  man,  is  an  insult 
and  injury  to  this  good  angel,  and  makes  it  so  far 
impossible  for  her  to  do  her  perfect  work,  because 
he  is  spending  ahead  of  his  income  of  life,  and 
bringing  a  fine  power  of  being  to  beggary,  if  not 
to  worse  than  that.  He  can  only  get  that  glow 
and  flame  at  a  heavy  discount,  both  of  life  itself 
and  of  all  that  makes  life  worth  living.  Patience 


PATIENCE.  275 

would  help  him  to  infinitely  finer  pleasures  from 
her  simple  and  wholesome  stores,  and  they  would 
stay  with  him  as  long  as  he  lived ;  but  he  will 
not  listen  to  her  counsels,  and  will  have  none 
of  her  reproofs ;  therefore  will  she  weep  at  his 
calamities,  and  mock  when  his  dole  cometh. 

This  is  but  one  way  in  which  we  can  make 
this  vast  mistake  through  our  impatience  and 
desire  to  forestall  the  good  that  God  will  give  us 
in  his  long,  steady,  seasonal  fashion.  There  is  a 
whole  world  of  evils  of  very  much  the  same  sort, 
some  more  fatal  still  than  the  one  I  have  named. 
It  is  the  same  thing  whichever  way  we  turn. 
Nature  says  one  thing,  and  desire  another.  Only 
the  perfect  work  of  Patience  can  make  both  one, 
and  then  the  result  of  both  is  grace.  She  comes 
to  you,  young  men,  as  she  came  to  us  when  we 
were  young :  some  of  you  will  put  your  life  into 
her  hands,  as  some  of  us  did,  whose  hair  is  gray, 
and  she  will  lead  you  forth  into  peace  and  joy. 
Some  will  refuse,  and  go  for  a  short  life  and  a 
merry  one,  and  they  will  get  the  brevity  but  miss 
the  mirth,  and  be  dead  at  forty,  though  for  twenty 
or  thirty  years  after  they  may  still  remain  un- 
buried.  Byron  was  a  dead  carcass  long  before 
he  went  out  to  the  Greeks. 


276  PATIENCE.  i 

All  this,  in  all  these  ways,  as  it  comes  to  us 
from  our  infancy  to  our  prime,  is  only  the  out- 
ward and  visible  part  of  a  patience,  or  want  of 
it,  that  touches  the  whole  deeper  life  of  the 
heart  and  soul,  and  makes  the  most  awful  or  the 
most  celestial  difference  to  our  whole  being. 

This  is  true,  first,  of  our  relation  to  one  an- 
other. The  very  last  thing  most  of  us  can  learn 
of  our  relations  to  each  other  is  to  let  Patience 
have  her  perfect  work.  Very  few  fathers  and 
mothers  learn  the  secret  this  angel  is  waiting  to 
tell  them  about  their  children  until  perhaps  the 
last  is  born.  It  is  probable  that  he  will  give 
more  trouble  than  any  one  of  the  others.  If  his 
own  bent  is  not  that  way,  the  big  margin  he 
gets,  when  we  are  aware  this  is  really  the  Ben- 
jamin, is  likely  to  make  that  all  right :  we  bear 
with  him  as  we  never  bore  with  the  first.  Then 
love  and  duty  were  the  motive  powers ;  now  it 
is  love  and  patience.  We  would  fain  undo  some- 
thing now  we  have  done  to  the  elder  ones,  and 
the  young  rogue  reaps  all  that  advantage;  and 
then  the  angel,  by  this  time,  has  had  her  way,  if 
Solomon,  with  his  wicked  axiom  about  sparing  the 
rod  and  spoiling  the  child,  has  no  more  weight 


PATIENCE.  277 

with  us  than  he  ought  to  have.  She  has  shown  us 
what  power  and  grace  are  under  the  shadow  of 
her  wings,  and  how  in  each  of  these  little  ones 
we  have  another  life  to  deal  with,  that  is  only 
i'airly  to  be  brought  out  to  its  brave,  strong 
beauty,  as  the  season  brings  out  the  apples  and 
corn.  Patience  is  the  only  angel  that  can  work 
with  love.  To  refuse  her  blessing  is  to  refuse 
God's  holiest  gift,  after  what  he  has  given  us  in 
the  child's  own  being.  I  think  the  day  is  yet  to 
dawn  when  lathers  and  mothers  will  feel  that 
they  would  rather  scourge  themselves  as  the 
old  anchorites  did,  than  scourge  their  little  ones ; 
and  will  not  doubt  that  they,  and  not  the  child, 
deserve  it,  when  they  feel  like  doing  it.  I  sup- 
pose there  is  not  an  instance  to  be  found  of  a 
family  of  children  coming  up  under  an  unflinch- 
ing and  unfailing  patience  and  love  turning  out 
badly ;  the  angel  prevailing  with  us  prevails 
with  the  child  for  us,  and  turns  our  grace  to  its 
goodness.  The  fruit  ripens  at  last  all  right,  if 
we  have  the  grace  to  let  the  sun  shine  on  it,  and 
to  guard  it  from  the  destroyer.  All  the  ten- 
dencies of  our  time  to  give  children  the  right 
to  have  a  great  deal  of  their  own  way,  are  good 


278  PATIENCE. 

tendencies,  if  we  will  understand  that  their  own 
way  is  of  course  the  right  way,  as  certainly  as  a 
climbing  vine  follows  the  turn  of  the  sun :  all  we 
have  to  do  is  carefully  and  patiently  to  open  the 
right  way  for  them  wherever  they  turn. 

Patience,  again,  must  have  her  perfect  work 
in  our  whole  relation  to  our  fellow-men.  It  is 
very  sad  to  read  of  the  shameful  things  that  have 
been  done  in  the  name  of  Religion,  for  the  sake 
of  conformity :  how  the  fagot  has  burned,  and 
the  rack  has  wrung.  We  cannot  believe  that 
we  could  ever  do  that,  and  very  likely  we  never 
should  ;  yet  we  are,  most  of  us,  inquisitors  in  our 
way,  and  want  to  force  human  beings  into  con- 
formity with  the  idea  we  have  of  fitness,  though 
it  may  not  be  theirs  at  all. 

It  is  reported  that  the  flitch  of  bacon  at  Dun- 
more,  in  Essex,  is  hardly  ever  claimed.  It  is  a 
noble  piece  of  meat,  you  know,  always  ready, 
with  ribbons  for  decorations,  and  no  little  rustic 
honor  besides,  for  the  man  and  woman  that  have 
been  married  a  year,  and  can  say,  solemnly, 
that  their  life,  the  whole  twelvemonth,  has  been 
a  perfect  accord.  Only  once  in  many  years  is 
it  claimed,  though  to  many  an  Essex  peasant  it 


PATIENCE.  279 

must  look  very  tempting.  The  loss  lies  in  the 
fact  that  they  did  not  take  this  angel  with  them, 
and  make  her  the  equal  of  love.  They  imagine 
that  love  is  omnipotent,  and  can  guard  them  from 
that  sharp  word.  Love  very  often  leads  them  on 
to  it,  since  love,  they  know,  is  justified  of  love ; 
but  when  all  hope  of  the  flitch  is  lost,  if  they  are 
true  and  good,  the  angel  comes,  and  stays,  and 
has  her  way.  If  they  are  neither,  it  is  brute  and 
victim,  with  no  hope  of  even  the  questionable 
mercy  that  comes  here  through  the  divorce  court. 
Want  of  patience,  indeed,  apart  from  the  vilest 
reasons,  must  be  the  main  cause  for  the  dreadful 
rank  growth  of  this  evil  weed  of  divorce  in  our 
social  life.  There  are,  no  doubt,  instances  in 
which  to  be  divorced  is  the  most  sacred  thing 
men  and  women  can  do.  Many  a  woman  must 
do  this  to  save  her  life.  She  is  tied  to  a  beast 
that  will  crush  her  to  death,  and  that  is  her 
escape.  And  many  a  man  must  do  it  to  save  his 
soul.  It  was  a  woman  he  thought  ho  was  wed- 
ding :  he  finds  the  old  Greek  fable,  of  something 
with  a  fair  woman's  face,  but  not  a  woman,  was 
true ;  and  she  would  drag  him  down  to  her  den, 
if  he  could  not  get  free. 


280  PATIENCE. 

But  these  are,  on  both  sides,  the  rather  rare 
exceptions.  Trace  the  most  of  these  sad  things 
to  the  well-head,  and  it  is  want  of  patience,  each 
with  the  other,  that  has  made  all  the  mischief, 
and  what  each  will  call,  in  their  blind  fury,  an 
infernal  temper,  is  this  devil  of  impatience,  which 
has  taken  the  place  of  the  good  angel  who  would 
have  saved  them  if  they  had  welcomed  her  as 
they  ought,  and  let  her  have  her  way.  If  they 
did  love  each  other  once,  they  will  never  find 
such  blessing  as  could  come  to  them,  with  pa- 
tience as  the  aid  to  their  affections.  Human 
souls  have  an  imperial  quality  in  them :  a  turn  for 
insisting  on  being  master ;  and  when  they  come 
so  close  together  as  husband  and  wife,  and  lovo 
recovers  his  sight,  as  he  will,  Patience  must  take 
up  her  part,  and  adjust  the  thing  by  a  constitu- 
tion of  equal  rights,  and  by  an  equal  giving  up 
of  rights,  or,  in  spite  of  love,  there  will  come 
infinite  trouble. 

We  have  very  much  the  same  thing  to  learn 
in  our  relation  to  each  other  in  the  whole  length 
and  breadth  of  our  life.  Ministers  with  their 
people,  and  people  with  their  ministers;  em- 
ployers with  their  servants,  and  servants  with 


PATIENCE.  281 

their  employers  ;  men  in  their  dealings  with  men, 
and  women  in  their  judgments  of  women.  We 
would  all  be  very  much  more  careful  in  what  wo 
say  and  do,  if,  when  we  pray,  we  should  say, 
"Our  Father,  give  us  grace  to  let  thine  angel 
have  her  perfect  work,  to  guide  and  keep  us  till 
we  reach  the  line  at  which  forbearance  ceases 
to  be  a  virtue :  and  then,  if  the  storm  must  come, 
make  it  like  the  lightning  that  cuts  its  quick 
way  through  the  clogged  and  dead  atmosphere, 
only  to  restore  and  bless,  to  set  all  birds  singing 
a  new  song,  and  deck  the  world  with  a  new 
beauty,"  —  that  would  be  a  blessed  prayer. 

For,  finally,  there  must  be  a  divine  impatience, 
too.  Jesus  Christ  felt  it  now  and  then ;  but  you 
have  to  notice  that  it  is  never  with  weakness  or 
incompleteness,  or  even  folly  or  sin ;  for  all  these 
he  had  only  forbearance  and  forgiveness,  and 
pity  and  sympathy.  What  roused  him,  and  made 
his  heart  throb,  and  his  face  glow,  and  his  voice 
quiver  with  a  divine  indignation,  was  the  hollow 
pretence  and  ugly  hypocrisy  he  had  to  en- 
counter, and  the  judgments  one  man  made  of 
another  out  of  his  from  a  sense  of  superior  attain- 
ment. That  is  our  right,  as  much  as  it  was 


282  PATIENCE. 

his  right,  as  we  grow  towards  his  great  estate. 
I  have  seen  an  impatience  as  divine  as  ever 
patience  can  be ;  but  this  is  needed  only  now 
and  then,  and  can  only  come  safely  and  truly  to 
the  soul  in  which  her  great  sister  has  her  perfect 
work.  The  perfectly  patient  man  is  always  jus- 
tified in  all  his  outbreaks.  Nobody  blames  the 
flaming  sword,  or  the  quick  stroke  home  that 
comes  from  a  noble  forbearance,  any  more  than 
we  blame  the  thunderbolts  of  the  Lord. 

Last  of  all,  for  this  angel  of  Patience  we  must 
cry  to  Heaven.  One  of  the  old  pagan  kings 
would  not  let  the  sage  go,  who  came  and  told  him 
that  when  passion  was  like  to  be  his  master,  he 
would  do  well,  before  he  gave  way,  to  recite  to 
himself  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  The  coun- 
sel seemed  so  admirable,  that  the  king  cried,  "  I 
cannot  do  without  you."  It  was  only  a  dim  pagan 
shadow  of  the  sheen  of  the  patient  angel  as  the 
apostle  sees  her.  There  she  sits,  the  bright, 
good  servant  of  the  Most  High,  ready  to  help  aH 
who  cry  to  him.  The  good  servant  that,  through 
untold  ages,  wrought  at  this  world  to  make  it 
ready  for  our  advent ;  laying  together,  an  atom 
at  a  time,  this  wonderful  and  beautiful  dwelling- 


PATIENCE.  283 

place,  with  all  these  stores  of  blessing  in  mine 
and  meadow,  mountain  and  vale  ;  then  when  her 
great  charge  came,  she  was  waiting  for  him, 
to  nurse  and  tend  him,  own  sister  of  faith,  and 
hope,  and  love,  and  twin-sister  of  mercy;  tireless, 
true,  and  self-forgetful,  anxious  only  for  her 
charge,  and  never  to  leave  us,  if  we  will  let  her 
have  her  perfect  work,  until,  through  all  hin- 
derance,  she  leads  us  through  the  golden  gate, 
over  which  is  written,  "  Here  is  the  patience  of 
the  saints ;  here  are  they  that  keep  the  com- 
mandments of  God,  and  the  faith  of  Jesus ; " 
then  she  will  have  her  perfect  work,"  and  we 
shall  be  perfect  and  entire,  lacking  nothing. 


XIV. 

TWO     MITES. 

MARK  xii.  43,  44 :  "  Jesus  said,  This  poor  widow  hath  cast 
more  in,  than  all  they  which  have  cast  into  the  treasury : 
for  all  they  did  cast  in  of  their  abundance ;  but  she  of 
her  want." 

IN  speaking  to  you  briefly  about  this  little  per- 
sonal history,  I  want  you  to  notice,  first,  the 
difference  between  what  this  widow  must  have 
thought  of  her  gift,  and  what  the  world  thinks  of 
it  after  almost  two  thousand  years  have  come  and 
gone.  You  can  see,  as  you  read  the  passage,  that 
the  words  of  Christ  were  not  meant  for  her,  but 
for  those  about  him.  He  speaks  after  she  has 
gone.  It  is  very  probable  that  she  never  heard 
of  it  as  long  as  she  lived,  and  not  improbable 
that  if  she  had  heard  of  it,  she  would  have 
minded  it  no  more  than  any  good  and  regular 
church-member  now  would  mind  what  was  said 
by  one  whom  she  considered  heretical,  dangerous, 
and  not  to  be  believed  in.  So  she  cannot  have 

284 


TWO   MITES.  285 

had  the  faintest  suspicion  that  her  gift  would  be 
remembered  five  minutes  after  it  was  given,  or, 
if  anybody  noticed  it,  that  they  could  possibly  look 
at  it  as  any  more  than  the  very  poor  gift  of  a 
very  poor  woman ;  and  yet  here  it  is,  in  its  bare 
poverty,  outshining  the  most  generous  giving 
the  world  has  ever  known.  There  is  nothing 
like  it,  that  I  know  of,  in  the  Bible  or  out  of  it. 
A  divine  word  has  made  gift  and  giver  immortal. 
There  she  stands,  with  her  half  cent,  in  the  sun- 
light of  heaven,  as  the  generations  come  and  go, 
incorruptible,  undefiled,  and  never  to  fade  away. 
Those  disciples  who  were  to  give  us  the  Gospels, 
caught  the  words  as  they  were  said  :  "  I  say  unto 
you,  this  poor  widow  hath  cast  in  more  than  they 
all ;  for  all  they  did  cast  in  of  their  abundance, 
but  she,  out  of  her  want,  did  cast  in  all  her  life  ;  " 
and  they  could  never  forget  them  if  they  tried : 
then,  when  the  Gospels  had  to  be  written,  this 
must  go  in.  It  could  no  more  be  left  out,  than 
the  great  historic  ruby  can  be  left  out  of  the 
English  crown.  Then  the  Gospels  began  to  be 
read  in  distant  places :  Greece  got  them,  and 
Eome,  and  Egypt,  and  Spain,  Britain,  and  France, 
and  Germany,  and  wherever  they  went  the  wo- 


286  TWO   MITES. 

man  went,  standing  in  the  splendor  of  the  divine 
words,  so  millions  at  last  saw,  what  was  seen  at 
first  by  two  or  three,  and  still  the  glory  grew : 
your  fathers  and  mine,  so  long  as  we  can  trace 
them,  saw  what  we  see ;  and  when  we  are  dead 
and  gone,  our  children  will  still  see  the  widow 
standing  with  her  two  mites  casting  them  into 
the  store  of  the  Lord,  and  then  going  back  to  her 
home,  and  beginning  again,  perhaps,  to  save  two 
mites  more.  We  turn  over  the  same  great  book, 
and  read  how  David  and  Solomon  gathered  their 
treasures,  and  gave  them  with  generous  hands  for 
noble  purposes ;  and  how  the  people  brought 
their  gifts,  when  their  hearts  were  stirred,  and 
gave  them  freely  for  their  temples  and  shrines, 
for  worship,  and  patriotism,  and  charity  ;  but  we 
see  nothing  like  this,  —  nothing  that  so  touches 
the  heart.  "  She,  out  of  her  want,  did  cast  in  of 
her  life,"  and  eternal  life  has  come  to  her  here  on 
the  earth ;  her  giving  has  been  her  saving,  and 
that  half  cent  has  brought  millions  of  money  to 
noble  uses. 

Again,  we  must  not  fail  to  notice  that  this 
divine  word  leaves  us  in  no  sort  of  doubt  as  to 
the  reason  why  the  poor  gift  should  be  what  it 


TWO   MITES.  287 

was,  in  comparison  with  those  which  were  intrin- 
sically so  much  greater.  Men  seemed  to  give 
then,  as  they  still  give,  with  a  vast  generosity 
for  good  objects ;  and  this  treasury  had  two 
great  purposes  —  the  care  of  the  temple,  and 
the  relief  of  the  poor ;  both  good,  and  both  well 
cared  for  by  the  good  men  and  women  of  that  day ; 
and  Jesus  saw  what  they  gave  ;  he  was  watch- 
ing them.  It  is  possible  that  he  had  been  very 
much  interested  that  day  in  the  whole  matter ; 
may  have  gone  again  and  again  to  watch,  won- 
derfully moved  and  attracted  by  this  sight  of  the 
givers  and  their  gifts ;  and  I  think  that  I  can 
see  what  he  saw  when  he  stood  there  that  day, 
and  can  follow  his  thought  a  little  way  as  I  follow 
his  eyes :  the  people  pass  the  chest,  each  is  drop- 
ping what  answers  to  each  nature,  and  then  pass- 
ing out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind,  ah1  except  this 
widow. 

Here  comes  a  merchant ;  the  times  are  hard,  ho 
tells  you ;  nothing  doing,  taxes  heavy,  losses  large, 
and  things  so  bad  generally,  that  you  have  to  say, 
What  a  misfortune  it  must  be  to  be  a  merchant ! 
But  you  have  to  notice  that  his  chariot  is  of  the 
latest  style,  and  by  the  best  maker ;  his  robes  of 


288  TWO   MITES. 

the  finest  texture  and  color;  his  diamonds  of 
the  purest  water;  and,  altogether,  for  a  man 
in  such  hard  trial,  he  looks  very  well.  Yester- 
day, he  looked  over  his  accounts ;  he  will  not 
tell  you  what  he  saw  there,  but,  certainly,  he 
did  not  seem  any  worse  for  the  sight.  This 
morning,  before  he  goes  to  his  store,  he  will 
go  to  the  temple ;  he  will  be  thankful,  to  the 
extent  of  offering  a  lamb ;  and  then  there  is 
a  little  balance,  when  all  is  done,  that  he 
would  like  to  drop  into  the  treasury.  A  little 
balance  !  but  it  would  buy  all  that  widow  has  in 
this  world,  —  the  hut  she  lives  in,  all  the  furni- 
ture, and  all  the  garments  she  has  to  keep  her 
from  the  cold.  Very  low  the  priest,  who  stands 
by  the  chest  that  day,  bows  to  the  generous 
gift ;  the  holy  man  would  be  horrified  if  you 
told  him  he  was  worshipping  a  golden  idol,  but 
it  is  true  for  all  that.  Then,  the  great  mer- 
chant passes  on,  and  you  see  him  no  more ;  he 
has  given  out  of  his  abundance ;  he  will  not 
need  to  deny  himself  one  good  thing  for  what 
he  has  given.  If  a  new  picture  strikes  his 
fancy,  he  will  ask  the  price,  and  then  say,  "  Send 
that  round  to  my  house ; "  he  will  have  his 


TWO   MITES.  289 

4 

venison  all  the  same,  whether  it  is  a  sixpence 
a  pound  or  a  dollar ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  year 
he  will  have  his  balance  undamaged,  in  spite 
of  the  hard  times.  He  has  given  out  of  his 
abundance ;  but,  considering  the  abundance,  he 
has  not  given  as  the  widow  did. 

Then  there  comes  a  lad}7.  You  can  see  that 
she  is  not  looking  well,  and  the  world  goes 
hard.  This  has  been  a  hard  year  for  her.  She 
has  had  to  give  parties,  and  attend  parties ; 
to  dress,  and  dance,  and  smile  when  she  wanted 
to  weep;  and  lose  her  rest,  and  be  a  slave 
that  the  slaves  themselves,  if  they  had  any 
sense  of  what  she  is,  and  has  to  do,  might  pity. 
The  season  is  over,  and  now  she  must  think 
of  her  soul,  —  her  poor  soul.  She  must  repent 
in  dust  and  ashes ;  go  to  the  temple ;  give  to 
the  poor,  and  to  the  support  of  the  true  faith ; 
and,  altogether,  lead  a  new  life.  It  is  the  most 
exquisite  "  make  up  "  of  dust  and  ashes  on  the 
avenue  that  morning.  She  sweeps  on  in  her 
humility,  gathering  her  garments  of  penitence 
about  her,  lest  even  a  fringe  should  touch  the 
beggar  at  the  gate.  She  stops  a  moment  to 
give  her  gift ;  low  bows  the  priest  again  as  she 
19 


290  TWO   MITES. 

passes,  and  she  takes  her  place  among  the 
women,  and  says  her  prayers,  and  her  soul  is 
shriven.  May  we  venture  to  wateh  her  back 
to  her  home,  and  see  the  luxury  that  waits 
her?  Is  there  one  jewel,  or  one  robe 'the  less 
for  what  she  has  given?  or  one  whim  the  less 
gratified,  when  the  time  for  penitence  is  over, 
and  the  season  opens  ?  I  see  no  sign  of  that. 
I  never  hear  her  say,  "  This  and  that  I  will 
forego,  that  I  may  give."  She  has  given  of  her 
abundance ;  she  simply  purchased  a  new  lux- 
ury, and  got  it  cheap,  and  she  fades  out  of  sight 
and  out  of  life. 

You  see  others  come  with  better  gifts,  not  so 
much,  it  may  be, 'in  mere  money  value,  but  more 
in  those  pure  eyes  that  are  watching  that  day, 
not  for  the  amount  of  the  gifts,  but  for  their 
meaning.  A  decent  farmer  follows  the  fine  lady, 
forehanded,  and  full  of  industry.  His  crops 
have  done  well;  his  barns  are  full ;  his  heart  is 
open.  He  has  come  to  the  city  to  sell  his  prod- 
uce ;  has  sold  it  well,  and  is  thankful,  an<?  he 
will  make  his  offering  of  two  doves  in  the  tem- 
ple, and  give  something  for  the  sacred  cause, 
and  to  the  poor  besides,  because  his  heart  is 


TWO   MITES.  291 

warm  and  grateful,  and,  as  he  says,  he  will 
never  feel  what  he  gives  to  God  and  the  poor; 
there  will  be  plenty  left  at  the  farm  when 
this  is  given ;  and  then  who  knows  but  that  the 
Lord  will  give  a  greater  blessing  next  year,  for 
does-  not  the  wise  book  say,  "  He  that  giveth  to 
the  poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord,  and  that  which 
he  giveth  shall  be  rendered  to  him  again "  ? 
So  it  is  at  once  a  free  gift,  and  in  some  way,  a 
safe  investment.  He  is  glad  to  give  the  money, 
and  yet  to  feel  that  this  is  not  the  last  of  it. 
Very  pleasantly  the  holy  man  smiles  on  him  too, 
as  he  drops  his  shekels  and  passes  on ;  he  has 
been  there  before ;  he  will  come  again.  He  is  one 
of  those  fast  friends  who  can  always  be  counted 
on  to  give  while  the  fruitful  fields  answer  to 
the  diligent  hand.  He  is  a  sort  of  country  con- 
nection to  these  commissioners  of  the  Most 
High,  and  will  always  be  received,  as  he  is  to- 
day, with  grace  and  favor. 

And  very  low  indeed  the  good  man  bows  to 
that  stately  centurion  who  comes  now.  He  is 
not  a  member  of  this  church  ;  indeed,  he  is  not 
a  member  of  uny  church ;  for,  like  ah1  his  nation 
of  that  rank,  he  thinks  that  all  churches  are 


292  TWO  MITES. 

very  much  alike,  and  none  of  them  of  much 
account,  except  as  managers  of  the .  common 
people.  But  it  is  a  good  thing  to  keep  in  with 
them ;  there  is  no  knowing  what  you  may  want ; 
and  so  he  comes  now  and  then,  and  looks  on  at 
the  service,  tosses  his  Roman  gold  into*  the 
chest,  nods  and  smiles  to  the  cringing  priest, 
and  feels  that  he  has  done  well. 

Then  with  all  these  come  the  good  and  sin- 
cere men  and  women,  with  not  much  to*  spare, 
but  who  make  a  conscience  of  giving,  and  man- 
age to  get  an  education  for  their  children,  and 
everything  decent ;  who  never  want  any  simple 
and  wholesome  thing  they  need,  and  are  able  to 
lay  up  a  little  beside  for  a  rainy  day ;  as  various 
as  they  are  now,  they  were  then,  who  would  do 
something  for  these  things  which  to  them  were 
so  sacred ;  and  it  was  when  givers  like  these 
came,  that  the  widow  came  with  her  two  mitos 
— the  smallest  matter,  possibly,  that  anybody  ever 
thought  of  giving.  I  think  if  she  -was  like  most 
women,  the  utter  littleness  of  what  she  had  to 
spare,  would  be  a  shame  to  her ;  she  would  be 
tempted,  on  the  mere  ground  of  her  womanly 
pride,  to  say,  "  Since  I  cannot  give  more,  I  will 


TWO   MITES.  293 

not  give  anything :  to  put  in  these  two  mites 
when  others  are  pouring  in  their  gold  and  sil- 
ver, will  only  show  how  poor  I  am."  So  it  was 
like  giving  her  life  to  give  so  little  ;  and  yet 
these  two  mites  that  meant  so  little  to  the  treas- 
ury, meant  a  great  deal  to  her.  They  meant 
darkness,  instead  of  a  candle  on  a  winter's 
evening ;  a  pint  of  milk,  or  a  fagot  of  sticks, 
or  a  morsel  of  honey,  or  a  bit  of  butter,  or  a 
bunch  of  grapes,  or  a  pound  of  bread.  They 
meant  something  to  be  spared  out  of  the  sub- 
stance and  essence  of  her  simple  and  spare 
living.  And  this  these  wise  and  loving  eyes 
saw  at  a  glance.  Jesus  knew  that  the  two 
mites  were  all  she  had ;  and  so  as  they  made 
their  timid  tinkle  in  the  cofi'er,  they  outweighed 
all  the  gold.  He  saw  what  they  came  to,  be- 
cause he  saw  what  they  cost,  and  so  his  heart 
went  with  the  two  mites ;  and  while  the  holy 
man,  who  had  made  such  deep  obeisance  for 
the  larger  gifts,  let  this  trifle  pass  unnoticed, 
Christ  caught  up  the  deed  and  the  doer,  and 
clad  them  both  in  the  shining  robes  of  immor- 
tal glory. 

And   this    incident    naturally   suggests,   first, 


294  TWO   MITES. 

that  there  may  be  more  splendor  in  some  ob- 
scure thing  we  never  stop  to  notice,  and  would 
not  care  for  if  we  did,  than  there  is  in  the  things 
that  dazzle  our  sight  and  captivate  our  hearts. 

We  have  all  had  to  notice  this  among  children. 
In  homes  where  there  are  plenty  of  children, 
there  is  almost  sure  to  be  one  who  will  do  things 
that  cost  the  life,  run  all  the  errands,  make  all 
the  sacrifices,  and  bear  all  the  real  sorrows,  but 
beyond  that  be  a  little  nobody ;  plain,  probably, 
and  small,  not  brilliant,  never  appearing  to  any 
advantage  —  if  she  is  of  that  sex,  as  very  gen- 
erally happens — beside  her  more  brilliant  sisters ; 
"  a  good  little  thing,"  the  whole  family  says,  and 
takes  all  the  rest  as  a  matter  of  course,  expect- 
ing the  service  and  sacrifice  as  something  that 
comes  in  the  course  of  nature.  This  is  the  two- 
mite  child  of  the  family ;  the  small  piece  of  home 
heroism,  of  a  worth  surpassing  all  the  gifts  and 
graces  of  the  household  besides ;  the  little  one 
that  Christ  would  see  if  he  came  and  sat  down  in 
the  house,  and  would  call  his  own ;  and  while  we 
would  want  to  see  him  notice  those  we  are  per- 
haps proud  of  for  their  beauty  or  brightness,  he 
would  say,  "  Suffer  this  little  one  to  come  unto 


TWO   MITES.  295 

me,  and  forbid  her  not,  for  of  such  is  the  king- 
dom of  heaven, — she  gives  more  than  they  all." 

We  notice  this  again  in  the  church.  Some 
naturally  attract  and  win  applause  by  their  gifts. 
The  eyes  of  the  church  are  on  them ;  their  Chris- 
tian life  is  a  sort  of  ovation,  a  triumphal  procer. 
sion,  and  their  ten  talents  tell  wonderfully  as 
they  ring  down  into  the  treasury  of  the  temple. 
Others,  again,  attract  no  more  attention  than  this 
widow  with  her  two  mites.  There  is  very  little 
that  they  can  do,  and  yet  they  do  that  little  at 
a  cost  the  rest  can  hardly  imagine.  They  say 
their  poor  word,  feeling  all  the  while  it  is  so  very 
poor  that  it  cannot  make  much  matter,  but  they 
must  say  it,  for  that  is  their  duty.  They  do 
their  bit  of  work,  and  a  very  poor  piece  it  is,  as 
everybody  can  see  ;  but  it  is  the  best  they  can 
do,  and  it  has  come  out  of  their  life.  It  is  their 
sorrow  that  they  cannot  do  more,  but  it  is  the 
joy  of  heaven  they  do  so  much,  and  they,  and 
not  the  brilliant  and  talented,  are  the  true  great 
givers ;  it  is  the  unseen  and  unnoticed  heroism 
of  Christian  men  and  women  that  feeds  the  fires 
of  goodness,  and  wins  the  well-done  of  the  Lord. 
Those  who  have  great  gifts  and  graces,  and  offef 


296  TWO   MITES. 

them  generously  for  sacred  uses,  are  honored  and 
blessed,  if  what  they  do  is  done  with  sweet  sin- 
cerity. But  it  is  those  who  have  but  a  small 
gift,  and  give  that  at  a  cost  the  gifted  cannot 
measure,  whom  the  eyes  of  Christ  rest  upon  with 
the  tenderest  light,  and  of  whom  he  says, "  These 
give  more  than  ye  all." 

And  this  that  is  true  of  I  he  home  and  the 
church,  is  true  of  the  whole  life  we  are  living. 
There  are  men  who  will  some  day  win  good 
places  in  the  world,  attract  attention  to  what  they 
do,  win  applause  and  honor  for  their  deeds,  but 
who  may  really  be  doing  better  now,  when  no- 
body knows  or  notices,  than  they  will  do  then, 
because  what  they  are  doing  now  demands  more 
self-sacrifice  than  they  will  ever  think  of  in  their 
greater  estate.  And  there  are  tens  of  thou- 
sands in  this  nation,  whom  we  never  heard  of, 
and  never  shall,  whose  deeds,  weighed  in  these 
divine  balances  that  weighed  the  widow's  two 
mites,  prove  them  to  be  more  heroic  in  the  heart 
and  soul  of  heroism  than  the  vast  majority  of 
those  we  have  sung  about  and  wept  over,  —  the 
brilliant  and  attractive  characters  who  gave  out 
of  their  abundance,  when  these  did  cast  in  their 
life. 


TWO   MITRS.  297 

Then,  again,  we  cannot  be  in  any  doubt  as  to 
what  lies  at  the  heart  of  this  word  of  Christ,  01 
what  led  him  to  cast  that  glory  on  a  poor,  deso- 
late woman,  and  give  her  precedence'  over  not 
merely  the  pomp  and  vanity,  but  the  real  grace 
and  generosity  of  those  who  came  with  her.  It 
was  an  illustration  to  him,  and  he  will  make  it 
one  to  us,  of  this  law  of  our  life,  that  the  most 
Godlike  deed  is  that  which  belongs  to  the  sac- 
rifices we  make,  giving  for  sacred  things  and 
causes  that  which  costs  us  most,  and  is  most 
indispensable,  and  yet  is  given  back  to  God. 
Nothing  was  worth  a  thought  in  this  poor 
thing's  gift  but  the  sacrifice  it  cost  her  to  give. 
Her  two  mites  were  as  worthless,  for  any  out- 
side uses,  as  the  smallest  coin  we  can  muster 
now  would  be  in  this  church  and  in  the  Citizen's 
Relief  Society,  The  whole  worth  of  it  lay  in 
that  piece  of  her  very  life  which  went  with  it ;  but 
that  made  the  two  mites  instantly  outweigh  the 
whole  sum  of  silver  and  gold  cast  in  by  the 
wealthy,  which  cost  nothing,  beyond  the  effort  to 
give  what  a  very  natural  instinct  would  prompt  • 
them  to  keep.  They  gave  of  their  fulness,  she 
of  her  emptiness ;  they  of  their  strength,  she  of 


298  TWO   MITES. 

her  weakness  ;  they  of  their  plethora,  she  of  her 
hunger ;  they  of  the  ever-springing  fountain,  she 
the  last  drop  in  her  cup.  It  was  not  the  sum, 
but  the  sacrifice  that  made  the  deed  sublime,  and 
set  the  doer,  in  her  rusty  old  weeds,  among  the 
glorious  saints  and  angels. 

Surely  this  must  tell  us  what  it  did  to  these 
that  stood  by  the  Messiah.  The  principle 
now  is  exactly  the  same  as  it  was  then,  as 
certainly  as  any  principle  governing  matter  in 
natural  laws.  The  young  man  may  say,  "I  am 
willing  to  do  my  share  for  sacred  causes  and 
institutions;"  but  if  he  means  by  that,  he  will  aid 
them  after  he  gets  all  his  parties,  and  operas,  and 
sleigh-rides,  and  everything  besides  that  his  heart 
can  wish,  —  the  gift  for  which  he  will  not  deny 
himself  the  least  of  these  things,  must  be  before 
Heaven  less  than  the  least.  And  the  man  of 
business  may  say,  "  I  will  help ;  the  Lord  has 
been  good  to  me,  I  will  be  grateful ; "  if  grati- 
tude takes  the  form  of  that  he  can  well  spare, 
and  yet  spare  nothing  out  of  his  life.  But  after 
he  has  purchased  with  the  talents  God  gave  him 
as  a  steward  everything  for  himself  that  he  can 
possibly  need,  then  he  really  spares  nothing, 


TWO  MITES.  299 

makes  no  sacrifice,  gives  only  out  of  his  abun- 
dance, and  is  still  open  to  that  touch  of  fear,  that 
he  may  not  even  be  dealing  fairly  with  the  Princi- 
pal who  has  committed  the  talents  to  his  trust ; 
the  fear,  which  good  old  brother  Cecil  used  to  say, 
always  gathers  about  stewards  and  agents  that 
grow  uncommonly  rich.  So  may  we  all  give, 
no  matter  what  we  are,  a  poor  selvage  out  of  the 
web  in  our  ample  and  voluminous  robes ;  give 
the  crusts  alter  we  have  eaten  the  dinner ;  spare 
in  the  Lent  what  we  could  not  spend  in  the  Carni- 
val, —  and  it  will  be  the  same  to  every  one  of  us. 
The  wise  all-seeing  Eyes  will  see  us,  and  what  we 
are  doing,  and  the  angel  will  write  in  his  book  of 
life,  "  He  gave  to  God  and  good  uses  what  he  did 
not  need  himself  for  any  uses."  Or  we  may  give 
out  of  the  real  substance ;  but  if  we  do  not  give 
with  a  real  sacrifice,  I  have  no  authority  from  the 
Lord  to  say  that  the  poorest  Irish  washerwoman 
in  this  town  who  gives  to  the  Lord,  according 
to  her  light,  her  two  mites,  which  make  one  far- 
thing, gives  it  out  of  her  life  to  say  a  mass,  even 
for  the  soul  of  her  wretched  sot  of  a  husband  who 
was  found  dead  in  the  Bridewell,  —  does  not  take 
infinite  precedence  of  the  best  and  most  generous 


300  TWO   MITES. 

who  have  all  they  want,  and  then  do  ever  so 
nobly  out  of  the  rest. 

For,  once  more,  it  is  in  its  own  way  a  piece  of 
the  grossest  infidelity  to  presume  that  this  inci- 
dent at  the  old  temple  gates,  that  still  stands  out 
radiant  in  the  light  of  heaven,  was  a  chance 
observation,  which  might  just  as  soon  have  been 
missed  as  not,  and  there  had  been  no  such 
lesson.  Believe  me,  this  cannot  be  true.  The 
conjunction  of  the  great  stars  is  not  more  inevita- 
ble in  the  heavens  than  was  this  gathering  to 
that  sight  and  hearing  on  Zion.  It  was  no  chance 
that  might  or  might  not  be ;  it  was  in  the  divine 
order,  that  we  might  be  left  in  no  doubt  about 
this  touching  and  deep-reaching  truth.  For  so 
God  will  have  us  Team  through  his  Son  and  an 
old  widow  woman  who  was  moved  in  her  poor 
soul  to  go  out  that  day  with  her  two  mites,  this 
holy  and  awful  law  of  sacrifice,  as  it  reaches  into 
such  things  as  these,  —  these  common  duties  of 
being  on  the  side  of  God  in  what  we  spare  for 
the  things  that  build  up  his  cause  or  aid  his 
children. 

It  was  another  lesson,  indeed,  that  we  learn,  in 
this  simple  and  most  obvious  way,  of  that  whole 


TWO  MITES.  301 

world  of  grace  and  truth  that  culminates  on 
Calvary.  It  is  sacrifice  in  its  uttermost  simplici- 
ty, in  words,  as  it  were,  of  one  syllable,  fitted  for 
babes  in  Christ.  No  more  may  we  presume  that 
there  is  not  the  divine  observation  of  the  human 
action  on  this  lake  shore  that  there  was  on  that 
mountain  top.  The  human  eyes  of  Christ,  as 
they  looked  with  such  tenderness  on  that  sight, 
these  human  eyes  were  but  the  organisms  through 
which  God  was  watching,  and  the  judgment  pro- 
nounced when  the  deeds  were  done  was  from 
the  judgment-seat  of  the  Most  High.  So  it  is 
forever  and  ever.  The  divine  eyes  are  watching 
us,  with  or  without  the  human  organism,  and  the 
words  are  said  about  us  ah1  sorrowfully  when  we 
are  selfish  and  small,  sweetly  when  we  are  self- 
forgetful  and  self-sacrificing.  You  may  make  a 
sacrifice,  and  feel  very  sad  you  could  not  do  more, 
and  go  home  when  it  is  made,  feeling  that  the 
thing  is  not  worth  a  thought,  and  be  glad  to  for- 
get it  yourselves,  and  only  to  remember  the  great 
gifts  of  the  rich  and  generous,  yet  shah1  the  last 
be  first,  and  the  least  greatest.  You  shah1  say, 
Lord,  when  did  I  give  two  mites  which  make  one 
farthing  ?  and  he  shall  say,  You  gave  it  at  such  a 


302  TWO   MITES. 

time,  and  went  without  such  a  piece  of  your  life, 
that  you  might  be  able  ;  and  these  shall  say,  That 
was  when  I  gave  my  shekels  ;  now  will  the  Lord 
surely  say,  here  is  a  crown  of  glory,  and  they 
shall  cry  out,  "  See  what  I  gave,  what  I  did  at 
that  very  time  ;  "  and  he  shall  say,  It  is  not  here ; 
the  angel  has  not  made  any  record  of  it ;  it  must 
have  been  out  of  your  abundance ;  and  we  never 
reckon  here  the  cup  that  was  filled  out  of  the 
ocean. 

And  if  you  say,  we  know  all  this  already, 
and  you  have  told  us  very  much  the  same 
things  before,  I  must  still  put  you  back,  dear 
friends,  on  your  own  inner  sense  of  what  is 
right,  and  remind  you  of  Paul's  great  word :  "  If 
thine  heart  condemn  thee,  God  is  greater  than 
thine  heart,  and  knoweth  all  things."  If  your 
heart  has  nothing  to  say  about  your  duty  to  do 
more  and  to  be  more,  and  you  know  it  is  alive  to 
the  work  God  gives  us  all  to  do,  then  I  am  dumb. 
I  want  you  only  to  put  yourselves  in  the  line  of 
this  holy  and  beautiful  thing,  this  gem  in  the 
setting  of  the  Gospels,  to  be  sure  that  your  gift 
to  God  is  the  gift  of  a  part  of  yourself  in  every- 
thing you  are  called  to  give. 


XV. 

OLD     AGE. 

PHIL.  9  :  "  Such  an  one  as  Paul  the  aged." 

OLD  age  is  the  repose  of  life,  —  the  rest  that 
precedes  the  rest  that  remains.  It  is  the  Seventh 
day,  which  is  the  Sabbath  of  a  whole  lifetime, 
when  the  tired  worker  is  bidden  to  lay  aside  the 
heavy  weight  of  his  care  about  this  world,  — to 
wash  himself  of  its  dust  and  grime,  and  walk 
about  with  as  free  a  heart  as  a  forehanded  far- 
mer carries  into  his  fields  of  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
at  the  end  of  harvest.  For  "  old  age  should 
be  peaceful,"  Dr.  Arnold  says,  "  as  childhood  is 
playful ;  hard  work  at  either  extreme  of  life  is 
out  of  place.  You  must  labor  in  the  hot  sun 
of  noon,  but  the  evening  should  be  quiet  and 
cool.  It  is  the  holy  place  of  life,  the  chapel  of 
ease  for  all  men's  weary  labors." 

But  it  has  been  the  misfortune  of  old  age  to 
be  generally   unwelcome,   with  some  noble  sx- 

303 


304  OLD   AGE. 

ceptions  among  those  who  can  see  how  nature 
never  makes  a  mistake  about  time.  The  aged 
would  rather  be  younger,  and  the  young  adiniro 
most  in  the  old  what  they  call  their  youthful- 
ness  ;  so  that,  "  How  yoirjg  he  seems ! "  is  our 
finest  praise  of  an  old  man,  and  "  How  old  I 
feel ! "  is  very  often  the  old  man's  most  pitiful 
complaint. 

Now  and  then  we  come  across  a  beautiful  aorl 
contented  old  age,  in  which  those  who  possess 
it  seem  to  be  aware  how  good  that  blessing  is 
which  can  only  come  through  a  long  lifetime, 
and  give  what  their  age  has  brought  them. 
Such  persons  surprise  us  that  we  should  ever 
have  been  content  to  admire  in  any  old  man  or 
woman  merely  their  poor  traces  of  youth,  while 
what  is  xso  much  better  than  youth  makes  up 
the  substance  of  every  well-ripened  life.  It 
is  as  if  one  would  persist  in  admiring  the 
shrivelled  petals  that  linger  at  the  end  of  an 
apple,  because  they  retain  about  them  the  dim 
memory  of  a  blossom,  and  care  nothing  for  the 
fruit  that  has  come  through  their  withering. 

I  am  not  to  deny  that  we  can  find  reason 
encugh  if  we  want  it  for  this  idea.  There  is  plenty 


OLD    AGE.  305 

of  evidence,  to  those  that  care  to  hunt  for  it,  ou 
the  misfortune  of  growing  old,  from  that  outcry 
of  the  heathen,  "  Those  the  gods  love  die  young," 
to  the  moan  of  the  last  man  we  found  weary 
of  his  life,  but  loath  to  leave  it.  We  can  see 
sometimes  in  those  who  are  growing  old  all 
about  us  such  an  isolation,  passing  at  last  into 
desolation,  and  such  utter  inability  to  bear  up 
against  the  burden  of  the  years,  that  we  pray 
in  our  hearts  we  may  be  saved  from  an  old 
age  like  that.  Then  we  remember  how  Sol- 
omon called  these  the  evil  days,  when  we 
shall  say  we  have  no  pleasure  in  them;  and 
how  a  great  philosopher  wrote  in  the  diary  of 
his  old  age,  "  Very  miserable ;  "  and  we  can  see 
Milton,  sitting  in  the  sun  alone,  old,  blind,  stern, 
and  poor ;  and  Wordsworth,  walking  in  his  old 
age  by  Rydal-water,  but  no  longer  conscious  of 
the  glory  and  joy  of  which  he  had  sung  in  his 
prime  ;  and  a  host  besides,  to  whom  old  age  has 
brought,  as  Johnson  said,  only  decrepitude ; 
and  then  wo  say  with  Lamb,  "  I  do  not  want  to 
be  weaned  by  age,  and  drop  like  mellow  fruit 
into  the  grave."  We  shrink  back  at  our  whiten- 
ing hairs,  and  wonder  how  anybody  could  ever 
20 


306  OLD    AGE. 

be  so  lost  to  the  fitness  of  things  as  to  call  us  — 
except  in  a  sort  of  splendid  jest — the  old  lady, 
or  the  old  gentleman.  The  child  longs  for  and 
welcomes  his  boyhood,  and  the  boy  the  youth, 
and  the  youth  his  manhood.  But  very  few  and 
far  between  are  the  men'  and  women  who  will 
desire  their  age,  as  a  servant  earnestly  desires 
his  shadow,  or  feel  that  the  white  head  is  a 
crown  of  glory,  when  they  see  in  their  own 
many  threads  of  silver,  and  cannot  hold  it  up 
for  the  burden  of  the  years.  In  the  face  of  this 
unbelief  in  the  goodness  and  blessing  of  old  age, 
I  want  to  say,  that  no  period  of  life  can  be  more 
desirable  than  this,  if  it  be  what  every  old  age 
ought  to  be ;  that  old  age  is  the  best  of  all  the 
ages,  when  it  is  a  good  old  age,  and  it  ought 
to  be  so  considered.  Such  a  conviction,  as  you 
may  well  believe  who  are  still  young,  or  in  mid- 
dle life,  can  only  come  fairly  through  a  true 
personal  experience;  but  this  comes  of  itself: 
that  if  life  be  good  as  bud  and  blossom,  and  in 
its  greenness,  and  the  days  when  it  is  ripening, 
then  there  is  no  reason,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
why  it  should  not  be  good  when  it  is  fully  ripe 
and  waiting  to  be  gathered.  If  the  soil  be  good, 


OLD   AGE.  307 

and  the  sowing,  and  the  seasons,  then  it  is  not  a 
thing  to  mourn  about  that  there  should  be  a 
harvest.  If  the  preparation  and  opportunity  be 
good,  what  is  to  be  said  of  the  consummation  ? 
Can  that  be  a  thing  to  lament  about,  to  beat 
back,  a  condition  so  unwelcome  that  it  is  polite 
not  to  be  aware  of  its  presence?  I  cannot 
believe  in  such  a  termination  of  these  great, 
sacred  processes  of  life.  If  it  be  a  misfortune 
to  grow  old,  it  is  a  misfortune  to  be  born,  and 
to  be  a  child,  and  youth,  and  young  man,  and  in 
our  prime.  If  the  rest  of  our  life  is  meant  to 
be  enjoyed,  then  this  must  have  some  better 
meaning  in  it  than  to  be  endured.  It  must  go 
up  and  stand  with  the  rest,  or  they  must  come 
down.  Old  age  is  a  beautiful  consummation, 
or  it  is  a  bitter  mistake. 

That  it  is  a  beautiful  consummation,  we  can 
sometimes  see  for  ourselves,  when  we  meet  some 
aged  person  in  whose  life  there  is  such  a  bright 
and  sweet  humanity,  and  true  love,  and  restful- 
ness,  and  grace,  that  we  feel  in  their  presence 
how  a  good  old  age  must  be  desirable  after  such 
a  life  as  all  men  are  called  to  live  in  this  stormy 
era,  when,  as  the  Psalm  has  it,  "  They  mount 


308  OLD   AGE. 

up  to  Leaven,  and  go  down  again  to  the  depths, 
and  their  soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble." 
Then  "  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  >and  men 
are  glad  because  they  be  quiet,  so  He  bringeth 
them  unto  their  desired  haven."  And  we  have 
all  had  to  contrast  an  old  age  like  that  with 
another,  in  which  there  was  no  beauty  which 
should  cause  us  to  desire  it ;  restless,  suspicious, 
hard,  and  graceless ;  that  has  never  abandoned 
its  sin,  but  has  been  abandoned  of  it,  as  the  fire 
abandons  burnt-out  ashes  ;  whose  threescore  and 
ten  years'  experience  of  the  world  has  only 
gone  to  confirm  their  unbelief  in  it,  while  they 
still  hug  it,  and  dare  not  let  it  go,  because  when 
they  peer  with  their  poor,  preoccupied  eyes 
into  the  hereafter,  they  can  only  feel  that  "  dark- 
ness, death,  and  long  despair,  reign  in  eternal 
silence  there ;  "  and  when  we  ask  what  can  make 
such  a  difference,  we  reach  what  I  want  espe- 
cially to  say,  — 

I.  How  to  come  to  a  good  old  age ;  and, 

II.  What  then? 

I.  And  this  is  to  be  first,  and  truly  under- 
stood, an  old  age  of  any  sort,  is  the  result  of 
the  life  I  have  lived,  whatever  that  has  been. 


OLD    AGE.  309 

That  above  all  outward  seeming,  or  even  inward 
feeling,  is  that  solid,  solemn  sentence,  "  What- 
soever a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap." 
I  can  live  so  well,  that  at  seventy  earth  and 
heaven  together  shall  say,  "  I  am  such  an  one 
as  Paul  the  aged."  Yet  from  exceeding  self- 
distrust,  and  want  of  the  instant  power  to  trust 
in  God,  I  may  not  feel  this  at  all,  but  look  back 
on  the  way  I  have  come,  and  say,  "  Better  I  had 
never  been  born  than  to  live  to  so  little  pur- 
pose." Or  I  may  shake  at  the  impending  change, 
at  that  other  life  into  which  the  young  may  go 
soon,  and  I  must  go  soon,  and  say,  "I  toil  be- 
neath the  curse ;  but  knowing  not  the  uni- 
verse, I  fear  to  slide  from  this  to  worse."  It 
is  no  matter  what  I  feel,  any  more  than  it  mat- 
ters that  a  fruitful  summer  day  shall  gather  a 
curtain  of  thick  cloud  about  it  as  it  sinks  to 
rest,  shutting  out  the  shining  heavens,  and  veil- 
ing all  things  in  the  mist.  It  has  been  a  fruit- 
ful day  all  the  same,  and  now  the  substance  of 
it  is  in  every  grain  of  wheat,  and  in  the  heart 
of  every  apple  within  the  zone,  and  its  incense 
has  gone  into  the  heavens  before  it,  so  the  fruit- 
fulness  abides,  and  its  blessing  rises,  and  the  sun 


310  OLD   AGE. 

aiid  moon  would  stand  still,  sooner  than  that 
should  be  lost. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  life  may  have  been 
worthless  as  withered  leaves,  selfish  and  self- 
seeking  since  the  day  when  I  cheated  my  small 
schoolmate  swapping  marbles  ;  hard  to  man,  base 
to  woman,  abject  to  power,  haughty  to  weakness, 
earthly,  sensual,  devilish.  Yet,  in  my  last  days, 
the  very  selfishness  that  has  been  the  ruling 
passion  of  my  life,  may  lead  me  to  grasp  the 
delusion  that  another  can  bear  my  sin,  and  then 
lift  me  instantly  into  Paradise  ;  and  the  good  of 
feeling  that  the  last  bargain  I  have  made,  and  the 
last  advantage  I  have  gained,  is  the  best,  may 
make  me  pass  out  of  life,  in  the  euthanasia  of 
self-deception,  into  the  pit.  It  is  no  matter  what 
I  feel,  what  I  have  done,  if  my  life  has  been  like 
that,  it  determines  what  I  shall  be.  AD  gels,  no 
more  than  men,  "  gather  grapes  of  thorns,  or 
figs  of  thistles ;  "  and  when  they  come  to  the 
gathering  because  the  harvest  is  ripe,  they  will 
gather  what  there  is. 

There  is  one  so-called  religious  tract,  once  in 
general  circulation,  and  considered  among  the 
best,  which  seems  to  me  to  be  blank  blasphemy. 


OLD   AGE.  311 

It  is  that  remarkable  narative  written  from  what 
Burnet  wrote  of  the  last  days  of  Wilmot,  Earl  of 
Rochester,  the  most  profligate  man,  after  his 
master,  Charles  II.,  of  that  era.  He  was  an  old 
man,  through  his  vices,  at  thirty-four,  and  at  the 
point  of  death  was  worn  out  utterly,  and  his 
mind  was  also  much  decayed,  as  his  biographer 
says  in  the  Encyclopaedia.  It  was  then  that 
Burnet  was  called  to  see  him,  was  attracted  to 
him,  as  the  result  shows,  partly  by  the  pity  of  a 
noble  heart,  and  partly  by  the  hope  of  bringing 
so  notorious  a  sinner  (who  was  also  an  infidel  and 
an  earl)  into  the  church.  The  result  was,  that 
he  died,  as  it  is  believed,  made  clean  through  the 
•atoning  blood,  and  was  taken  straight  to  heaven, 
because  our  Protestantism  leaves  us  no  alterna- 
tive but  that  or  hell,  and  divides  the  places,  and 
hopes  and  despairs  of  them,  by  a  razor-edged 
dogma,  this  way  and  that. 

Now  let  me  never  be  suspected  of  trying  to 
limit  'the  infinite  mercy.  "  O,  praise  the  Lord, 
for  he  is  good,  for  his  mercy  endureth  forever." 
That  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester,  has  been  or  will 
be  saved,  I  doubt  no  more  than  I  doubt  my  own 
existence.  The  ultimate  fact  I  do  not  doubt; 


312  OLD   AGE. 

the  instant  application  of  it,  in  that  way,  I  utterly 
deny.  What !  make  that  man  an  angel  of  light, 
and  clean  from  all  sin,  there  and  then,  while 
women  he  had  ruined  were  walking  through 
London  streets  down  to  hell !  set  him  singing  at 
the  foot  of  the  great  white  throne,  without  a  care, 
while  mothers,  whose  daughters  were  lost  through 
him,  were  weeping,  heart-broken,  in  their  blighted 
homes !  when  the  whole  life  of  England  was  baser 
because  he  had  lived  in  it !  when  his  poems  and 
songs  were  only  just  starting  out  to  sow  their 
evil  seeds  through  the  long  generations  until 
now  !  I  tell  you  that  is  blasphemy.  "  Whatso- 
ever a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap," 
whether  the  harvest  be  gathered  here  or  yonder. 
I  get  what  I  give.  So,  then,  what  I  feel  in  my 
old  age  may  be  a  very  small  matter.  Wilmot 
was  very  happy ;  Luther,  on  the  whole,  was  very 
miserable.  He  said,  that  rather  than  have  much 
more  of  life,  he  would  throw  up  his  chance  at 
Paradise,  and  felt  every  day,  after  he  was  fifty 
what  such  a  one  as  Paul,  the  aged,  meant,  when 
he  said,  "  We  that  are  in  this  tabernacle  do  groan, 
being  burdened."  What  I  am,  is  the  great  thing ; 
the  feeling  may  answer  to  the  fact  or  it  may  not ; 


OLD   AGE.  313 

that   depends   upon   a  great  many  matters  that 
never  disturb  eternal  verities  at  all. 

Now,  what  I  am  from  sixty  to  seventy,  is  the 
sum  of  what  I  have  been  from  sixty  back  to  six- 
teen. I  have  been  getting  together,  letter  by 
letter,  and  page  by  page,  that  which,  good  or 
bad,  is  now  stereotyped,  and  stays  so.  Talking 
once  with  a  friend  who  had  been  very  sick,  he 
told  me  that  one  remarkable  fact  in  his  sickness, 
while  he  was  nnconscious  of  all  that  went  on 
about  him,  was  the  coming  back  of  his  life  like  a 
succession  of  pictures.  Things  that  he  had  long 
forgotten,  that  were  buried  down  deep  in  the 
past,  came  up  again  on^by  one,  and  were  a  part 
of  himself.  It  was  a  dim  intimation  of  what  we 
have  all  been  led  to  suspect  from  our  own  ex- 
perience,—  that  things  are  not  lost,  but  laid  away, 
everything  in  its  own  place ;  and  it  is  but  another 
side  of  what  I  have  tried  to  show  you  by  a  figure 
—  our  thoughts  and  deeds  are  the  words  and  pages 
in  the  Book  of  Life.  Slowly  we  gather  them  to- 
gether, page  by  page,  and  when  old  age  comes 
the  story  is  told.  Letters  may  be  missing  then, 
and  words  here  and  there  obscure  ;  but  the 
whole  meaning  and  spirit  of  it,  the  hardness  and 


314  OLD   AGE. 

falsehood,  or  the  tenderness  and  truth  and  love, 
the  tenor  and  purpose  of  it,  are  then  all  to  be  read. 
It  is  noble  or  base.  It  will  inspire  or  dishearten. 
It  may  be  the  life  of  a  king  like  George  the 
Fourth  of  England,  in  which  there  is  not  a  line 
that  the  world  would  not  gladly  forget,  or  the 
life  of  a  cobbler  like  John  Pounds,  who  lived  in 
the  kingdom  under  that  king,  and  out  of  his 
poverty  lured  with  little  gifts  the  poorest  chil- 
dren in  Plymouth  to  his  small  shanty,  that  he 
might  teach  them  to  read ;  and  better  things  be- 
sides, giving  his  whole  life  for  their  salvation, 
whatever  it  be.  I  would  not  dare  to  say  one 
word  of  old  age  before  tMs,  —  that  the  most  cer- 
tain thing  about  it  is,  it  is  the  solid  result  of  a 
lifetime.  It  is  no  matter  how  we  may  feel  who 
have  to  face  it,  that  is  what  must  abide  at  the 
heart  of  it,  and  be  the  warp  and  woof. 

This  brings  me  to  say  again,  what  may  seem  to 
have  been  left  doubtful  as  I  have  tried  to  state  this 
first  thing,  —  that  there  is  a  line  to  be  drawn,  on 
the  one  side  of  which  any  man  may  look  forward 
to  an  old  age  full  of  contentment,  but  on  the 
other,  if  we  take  it,  only  of  misery.  It  is  that 
line  which  runs  between  what  inspires  the  life 


OLD   AGE.  315 

and  soul,  and  what  merely  exhausts  it ;  what 
perishes  in  the  doing  or  the  using,  and  what 
abides  forever;  the  fashion  of  this  world  that 
passes  away,  and  the  spirit  of  that  which  is  as 
fresh  and  full  forever,  as  the  sea  is  of  water,  or 
the  sun  of  fire. 

There  is  a  dull,  heavy  book  I  read  sometimes, 
for  one  great  lesson  that  I  find  in  it  —  the  Life 
of  James  Watt,  the  inventor  of  the  steam  engine. 
His  life  opened  into  sickness,  and  almost  constant 
pain,  and  such  heavy  depression  of  the  heart  and 
mind,  that  when  he  was  thirty-four,  he  writes,  "  I 
greatly  doubt  whether  the  silent  mansion  of  the 
grave  is  not  the  happiest  place."  There,  we 
naturally  say,  if  he  do  not  die  young,  or  get  into 
his  nature  some  vast  compensation  of  religious 
feeling,  is  the  making  of  a  miserable  old  man ;  or, 
even  if  he  be  religious,  he  may  become  one  of 
that  unhappy  number  we  are  always  meeting, 
who  has  a  great  deal  of  religion,  but  no  rest. 
Well,  Scott  met  him  in  a  company  when  he  was 
in  his  eighty-second  year,  and  wondered  at  his 
cheerful  presence,  and  how  he  was  at  home  with 
everybody  about  him,  talking  to  every  one  in  a 
select  company  of  the  best  men  in  Scotland  with 


316  OLD    AGE. 

the  keenest  interest  in  what  interested  that  par- 
ticular man.  'Jeffrey  had  seen  him  a  year  before, 
and  says  he  never  saw  him  in  his  life  more  anima- 
ted, instructive,  and  delightful.  Campbell  passed 
a  day  with  him  when  he  was  nearly  eighty-three, 
and  says,  "  It  was  one  of  the  most  amusing  and 
instructive  days  of  my  whole  life."  Another 
writes  of  this  time,  that  he  was  telling  a  Swedish 
artist  how  to  make  the  best  brushes  for  painting, 
and  this  lady  how  to  cure  her  smoky  chimney,  and 
that  one  how  to  obtain  fast  colors  for  her  dresses, 
and  teaching  a  child  how  to  play  on  the  jews-harp, 
and  how  to  make  a  dulcimer,  and  was  altogether 
an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  interest  and  instruc- 
tion to  all  that  came  to  him,  and  only  distressed 
and  uneasy  when  anybody  insisted  on  reminding 
him  what  a  mighty  work  he  had  done  in  his  long 
lifetime. 

Now,  I  ask  what  made  this  vast  alteration  be- 
tween James  Watt  at  thirty-four  and  at  eighty- 
three,  and  hear  some  such  answer  as  this :  James 
Watt  did  dutifully  what  God  set  him  to  do  on  this 
earth,  not  caring  so  much  for  the  profit  or  tho 
praise  his  deed  might  bring,  as  that  the  work 
should  be  well  done.  That  was  one  thing.  The 


OLD   AGE.  317 

other  was,  that  what  he  did,  though  it  was  only 
the  perfecting  of  the  steam  engine,  he  wrought 
for  a  pure  purpose  of  God,  and  for  the  th#  help 
of  humanity.  It  was  a  part  of  that  great  plan,  of 
which  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  is  the  perfect 
crown  —  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of 
men.  That  glory  was  only  made  greater  by  the 
application  of  steam,  through  law,  to  machinery  ; 
and  humanity  was  only  blessed  by  the  lifting 
away  of  one  of  its  burdens.  But  it  was  a  divine 
work,  in  its  degree,  and  it  brought  a  divine  re- 
ward. So  the  dutiful  life,  through  sickness,  de- 
pression, and  pain,  brought  a  restful  and  noble 
old  age,  into  which,  while  one  by  one  his  old 
.friends  left  him,  and  he  felt  his  own  feet  touch 
the  chill  of  the  great  river,  the  consolations  of 
God  came  pouring  plentifully,  banished  all  fear, 
and  made  him  feel,  as  one  has  said,  how  "  age  is 
but  the  shadow  of  death,  cast  where  he  standeth 
in  the  radiant  path  of  immortality." 

And  this  is  the  preparation  for  a  good  old  age : 
Duty  well  done,  for  its  own  sake,  for  God's  sake, 
and  for  the.  sake  of  the  commonwealth  of  man. 
When  a  man  works  only  for  himself,  he  gets  nei- 
ther rest  here,  nor  reward  hereafter.  When  I 


318  OLD    AGE. 

work  for  myself,  and  live  for  myself,  I  exhaust 
myself;  but  when  I  work  for  others,  wisely  and 
well,  J  work  for  God  too ;  and  for  my  work  I  get 
that  bread  which  cometh  down  from  heaven. 
And  duty  can  find  an  infinite  outcome.  It  can 
nurse  a  sick  child,  or  teach  a  healthy  one.  It 
can  be  John  Pounds  or  John  Milton.  It  can 
found  the  firms  and  factories,  that  are  the  roots 
of  civilization,  and  the  schools  and  churches  and 
libraries,  that  are  its  life's  blood.  In  all  these 
ways,  and  all  others,  the  preparation  for  a  good 
old  age  is  my  duty  unselfishly  done,  trusting  in 
God,  and  living  purely. 

II.  I  said,  when  old  age  comes,  what  then? 
The  preparation  for  it  is  a  pure  life,  and  faithful-* 
ness  to  duty  now.  What  comfort  and  advantage 
can  come  to  it,  and  abide  through  it,  until  I  die  ! 
If  I  may  take  such  instances  as  I  have  met  with 
in  life,  or  in  books,  or  have  thought  of  as  possible, 
1  want,  when  I  come  to  be  an  old  man,  to  feel  and 
to  act  something  like  this :  First  of  all,  I  will  try 
to  make  the  best  of  it ;  not  the  best  of  what  is  bad 
at  the  best,  as  some  seem  to  think,  but  of  what  is, 
if  I  will  but  .understand  it,  the  best  of  my  wholo 
life,  because  it  is  the  last. 


OLD    AGE.  319 

So  that,  if  I  should  be  favored  then  to  feel 
clear  and  strong,  and  this  organism,  through 
which  the  spirit  works,  shall  serve  me,  I  will  re- 
member what  good  there  was  at  eighty-three  in  a 
man  like  James  Watt,  and  how  Solon  said  that  after 
sixty  a  man  was  not  worth  much,  but  himself  lived 
to  be  over  fourscore  for  all  that,  and  at  fourscore 
did  the  very  best  work  of  his  life.  I  will  then 
muster  with  these  all  the  grand  old  men,  away 
back  to  such  a  one  as  Paul  the  aged,  whose  age 
has  brought  its  own  peculiar  power,  and  made  the 
world  glad  they  were  spared  so  long  to  be  such 
a  blessing,  and  so  I  will  keep  on  as  they  did,  not 
permitting  my  best  friend  to  cheat  me  out  of  the 
count  of  my  years  because  I  am  ^till  active,  but 
will  carry  it  all  to  the  account  and  the  advantage 
of  my  old  age,  and  the  blessing  that  may  abide 
in  that. 

But  if  it  be  otherwise,  and  long  before  I  have 
to  go  through  the  river  the  eye  grows  dim,  and 
the  fires  abate,  and  a  grasshopper  becomes  a  bur- 
den, and  the  tramp  a  shuffle,  and  I  have  the  grace 
to  see,  what  people  may  be  too  kind  to  say,  that 
my  active  days  are  over,  and  I  had  better  have 
done ;  then  I  will  try  to  see  also  how  this  is  the 


320  OLD   AGE. 

best  that  can  happen,  because  it  is  the  kind,  good 
Master  taking  out  of  my  hand  the  hammer  I  were 
otherwise  loath  to  lay  down,  and  putting  out  the 
fire,  in  which  I  should  only  potter,  and  waste  mate- 
rial, and  saying  to  me,  in  this  good,  wise  way, "  Now 
sit  down  a  while,  until  it  is  time  to  go.  You 
have  wrought  long  enough.  Rest  and  be  quiet." 
And  then,  please  God,  I  will  not  break  out  into 
that  shameful  lamenting  I  have  heard  from  old 
men,  about  "  the  tender  light  of  a  day  that  is 
gone,  that  can  never  come  back  to  me,  and 
powers  and  appetites  withered  away." 

Perhaps,  even,  I  will  rise  so  high  as  to  thank 
God  it  is  so,  and  that  the  passions  and  appetites 
I  have  had  to  watch  like  wild  beasts  sometimes, 
are  tamed  at  last,  and  I  am  free  to  be,  in  some 
poor  measure,  as  the  angels  of  God.  I  do  think, 
indeed,  that  such  outcries  as  we  hear  and  read 
about  the  blight  that  comes  to  age  in  the  loss  of 
its  powers,  are  as  unreasonable  and  unpardonable 
as  anything  that  can  be  thought  of.  I  can  think  of 
nothing  now  that  I  shall  mo  re  earnestly  desire  when, 
as  Paul  the  aged  said,  "the  outward  man  perishes," 
than  that  the  inward  man  should  be  so  renewed,  day 
by  day,  as  to  make  me  feel  there  is  no  loss,  but  a 


OLD   AGE.  321 

gain,  in  that,  because  "  there  is  a  building  of  God, 
a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heav- 
ens," where  mortality  shall  be  swallowed  up  of  life. 
Then  another  thing  which  I  want  to  be  sure 
aj)out,when  that  time  comes,is,that  the  world  is  not 
rushing  headlong  into  destruction  because  I  am  no 
longer  guiding  it.  It  may  be  cause,  or  it  may  be 
effect,  I  can  never  quite  tell  which ;  but  I  have 
noticed  it  is  one  of  the  keenest  miseries  of  a  rest- 
less old  age,  that  it  is  quite  convinced  everything 
is  going  wrong,  and  getting  worse  and  worse,  from 
the  little  grandchild,  who  is  not  at  all  what  his 
grandfather  was  seventy  years  ago,  to  the  vast 
and  solemn  interests  of  the  nation,  going,  beyond 
redemption,  to  ruin.  It  was  this  which  made  that 
misery  in  Luther's  later  life,  of  which  I  have 
spoken.  He  was  sure  the  world  was  given  over 
to  the  Evil  One.  His  last  letters  speak  of  life  as 
utterly  hopeless.  "  The  world,"  he  said,  "  is  bent 
on  going  to  the  devil."  "It  is  like  a  drunken 
peasant."  "  Put  him  on  his  horse  on  one  side,  and 
he  tumbles  over  on  the  other ;  take  him  in  what- 
ever way  you  will,  you  cannot  help  him."  Now, 
the  evil  with  Luther  dated  back  many  years  be- 
fore this,  when  he  would  not  trust  our  common 
21 


322  OLD   AGE. 

humanity  in  as  reasonable  a  request  as  it  ever 
made,  but  took  the  side  of  the  nobles  against  the 
peasants,  and  with  his  own  hand  tried  to  put  back 
the  clock  of  the  Reformation. 

It  is  one  of  the  qualities  of  the  most  restful  aqd 
joyful  old  age,  that  it  believes  in  the  perpetual 
incoming  of  the  kingdom  of  our  God  and  of  his 
Christ.  And  so  its  heart  is  full  of  belief  and  hope 
in  the  new  time  and  the  new  generation.  "  The 
former  times,"  such  old  men  say, "  were  not  better 
than  these,  and  I  was  not  better  than  my  grand- 
son." Like  Paul  the  aged,  such  an  old  age  is  not 
sure  it  shall  see  the  coming  kingdom  and  power 

* 

and  glory,  but  it  is  sure  it  is  to  come,  so  that  in- 
fancy is  to  it  a  perpetual  prophecy ;  and  the  old 
man  can  always  take  the  young  babe,  and  cry, 
"Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in 
peace,  according  to  thy  word ;  for  mine  eyes  have 
seen  thy  salvation."  It  is  one  of  the  best  bless- 
ings of  a  good  old  age,  that  it  can  believe  in  a 
good  new  age  which  it  has  helped  to  bring  in,  and 
in  which  it  is  permitted  to  stay  for  a  little  while,  and 
welcome  it.  Such  a  one  as  Paul  the  aged  is  always 
quiet  about  that.  Then  I  shall  hope  to  realize 
how  wonderful  is  this  great,  faithful  Providence, 


OLD  AGE.  323 

which,  since  I  can  first  remember,  has  wrought 
such  marvels  in  the  earth ;  how  men  and  nations 
are  in  the  hand  of  God.  And  while  age  will  make 
my  religious  ideas  so  unalterable  that,  if  one 
shall  come  as  directly  from  God  as  Christ  did, 
with  a  new  Gospel,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  give  up 
this  for  that,  I  shall  be  able  to  feel  that  all  the 
differences  of  good,  true  men  are  included  within 
the  great  harmonies  of  God. 

But  all  this,  and  all  else,  can  only  come  in  one 
way.  In  a  wise  little  book,  given  me  lately,  on 
the  art  of  prolonging  life,  the  author  says  that  in 
old  age  the  system  should  have  more  generous 
nourishment.  It  is  the  correlative  of  a  truth 
about  the  soul.  Say  what  we  will, — 

"  Except  we  are  growing  pure  and  good, 

There  can  be  no  good  in  growing  old.  • 
It  is  a  path  we  would  fain  avoid  if  we  could  ; 
And  it  means  growing  ugly,  suspicious,  and  cold." 

God  help  us  if,  as  we  are  growing  older  we 
do  not  grow  better,  and  do  ngt  nourish  our  souls 
on  the  most  generous  thoughts  and  aspirations. 

A  noble  German  thinker  speaks  of  his  inten- 
tion to  store  up,  for  his  death-day,  whatever  is 
best  in  all  he  has  thought  and  read.  I  would  not 


324  OLD   AGE. 

wait  for  that  day.  I  would  have  my  store  ready, 
when,  some  time  after  sixty,  I  begiii  to  feel  the 
first  chill  of  the  cold  waters,  and  then  feed  my 
heart  on  it  all  the  way  along  to  the  end.  The 
great  promises  of  the  sacred  books,  the  faith  in  the 
fatherhood  that  was  in  Christ,  the  joyful  hope  that 
rings  through  great  poems,  like  that  of  Words- 
worth on  Immortality,  and  Tennyson's  "  In  Memo- 
riam,"  and  this  wonderful  work  of  "  Jean  Paul " 
which  I  have  just  mentioned.  Then  the  winter  of 
my  life  shall  not  be  the  winter  of  my  discontent. 
I  will  take  a  lesson  even  from  the  little  creatures 
that  hide  in  the  woods,  that  in  bright  summer 
weather  make  their  store-house,  and  in  the  autumn 
lay  up  their  store ;  then,  when  the  storms  sweep 
through  their  sylvan  homes,  and  the  frost  and 
snow  turn  the  great  trees  into  pillars  of  ice,  live 
snug  and  warm  among  their  kind,  and  wait  for 
the  new  spring. 

"  Grow  old,  then,  cheerily; 

The  best  is  yet  to  be 
The  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made. 

"  Our  times  are  in  His  hand, 
Who  saith,  A  whole  I  planned ; 
Youth  shows  but  half  trust  — 

God  sees  all ; 

Nor  be  afraid." 


XYI. 

AT  THE  SOLDIERS'   GRAVES. 

ISA.  Ixi.  3  :  "  Beauty  for  ashes." 

WE  gather,  to-day,  from  our  great  city,  in  this 
city  of  the  dead,  for  a  noble  purpose.  It  is, 
that  the  tender  grace  may  rest  on  us  that  rests 
on  the  dust  of  the  men  who  died  to  save  us; 
and  that  we  may  strew  flowers  on  their  graves, 
not  so  much  for  a  token  that  we  will  not  forget 
them,  as  for  a  sign  that  they  may  not  forget  us. 

It  is  a  good  time  to  meet  for  this  purpose 
just  as  the  spring  is  passing  into  summer,  and 
the  full  bloom  of  the  world  is  about  us,  to  make 
this  the  symbol  of  the  feeling  that  is  in  our 
hearts  for  those  who  went  forth  as  spring  was 
opening  into  summer  in  their  lives,  and  gave 
them  to  their  country. 

And  this  fitness  in  the  time  is  the  more 
fitting  from  the  fact  that  this  day  falls  on  a 
Sunday.  It  is  the  first  time  we  have  come 

325 


326  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

together  in  this  fashion  for  this  great  purpose. 
It  gives  another  grace  to  the  rite,  that  it  should 
be  done  on  a  day  set  apart  for  sacred  things.  I 
am  glad  of  the  beautiful  coincidence.  It  makes 
the  day  to  me  still  more  sacred.  Indeed,  I 
cannot  but  feel  that  it  would  be  a  vast  advan- 
tage if  the  time  we  give  to  this  sacrament  of 
the  flowers  could  always  be  a  Sunday.  If  on 
this  holy  day  we  could  close  our  churches  with 
one  consent  all  over  the  land,  gather  in  the 
cemeteries  where  these  heroes  rest,  and  hold 
great  services  of  psalm  and  prayer,  with  only 
the  arches  of  heaven  for  the  dome  of  our 
temple,  then  we  should  have  a  service  that  all 
would  be  glad  to  attend,  a  church  from  which 
none  would  feel  excluded,  and  such  a  blessing 
as  seldom  comes  to  little  synagogues,  where  we 
meet  for  more  private  devotion. 

But  simply  touching  this  as  something  that 
I  devoutly  hope  may  come  to  pass,  for  the  good 
of  the  church  and  the  commonwe^th  alike,  I 
cannot  but  feel  that  better  still  than  the  time 
is  the  spirit  that  brings  us  together  and  makes 
us  one,  as  if  in  this  great  multitude  there  is 
one  common  heart.  It  is  not  possible  that  in 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  327 

the  common  reaches  of  life,  there  should  not 
be  a  vast  difference  in  the  thought  and  feeling 
of  a  multitude  like  this.  I  think  it  best  there 
should  be.  The  dead  levels  of  uniformity  on 
most  of  the  questions  that  come  home  to  us, 
are  the  lurking-places  of  malarias,  and  only 
the  mountain  ranges  of  diversity  are  the  fast- 
nesses of  health.  But  as  on  this  summer  Sun- 
day the  sun  draws  this  whole  green  world  to 
look  up  and  to  drink  in  his  light  and  fire,  so  the 
glory  that  burns  and  shines  in  the  deeds  of  the 
men  who  are  resting  here,  and  all  over  the  land, 
and  in  the  sea,  draws  us  as  the  sun  draws  the 
world;  and  as  these  men  were  made  one  in 
that  cause  for  which  they  gave  their  life,  we 
are  made  one  in  our  loyalty  to  their  dust. 
When  we  come  here,  —  though  we  have  never 
seen  the  face  of  one  buried  beneath  these 
mounds,  —  we  gather  about  the  graves  of  our 
brothers  and  sons.  Whe*n  the  youth  left  his 
home  and  his  mother  to  defend  his  country,  he 
was  adopted  by  the  whole  motherhood  of  the 
republic,  and  every  home  made  him  one  of  its 
own.  So  we  cast  the  flowers  on  the  graves 
of  our  kindred ;  and  from  this  low,  green  hill, 


328  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

our  hearts  yearn  over  the  dust  of  all  brave 
soldiers  who  fought  and  fell.  It  is  a  consecra- 
tion that  reaches  wherever  a  man  is  laid  whose 
heart  beat  for  the  mighty  work  God  gave  us 
to  do  in  this  generation.  One  great,  simple  ar- 
ticle was  their  whole  creed, —  that  the  American 
Republic,  just  as  it  was  then,  was  good  enough 
to  live,  and  fight,  and  die  for.  It  is  good  enough, 
as  we  gather  here,  to  make  us  forget  all  minor 
things  in  their  noble  sacrifice,  and  in  our  thank- 
fulness to  God  for  raising  up  such  men.  They 
died  that  we  might  live.  They  gave  their  life 
a  ransom  for  many.  So  it  is  well  that  we  should 
have  but  one  heart  as  we  meet  about  their 
graves,  and  speak  of  their  great  devotion. 

It  has  seldom  been  my  lot,  in  all  the  years 
of  my  ministry,  to  feel  so  entirely  unequal  to 
any  work  1  have  had  to  do,  as  I  do  to-day. 
As  I  have  thou/ght  of  the  great  honor  in  your 
request  that  I  should  address  you,  I  could 
not  but  feel  it  was  all  a  mistake  to  select 
such  a  man  as  I  am  for  this  work.  It  is  one 
of  the  touching  things  that  have  come  to  us 
from  the  old  time,  that  when  a  man  wanted 
to  move  a  great  multitude  to  do  some  piece  of 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  329 

grace,  he  stood  before  them  and  held  up  a  poor 
stump,  from  which  the  hand  had  gone  in  de- 
fence of  their  homes.  He  said  no  word  ;  he 
simply  bared  the  maimed  limb,  and  in  a  moment 
the  multitude  was  lifted  into  the  grace  he 
sought.  So  I  have  thought  you  had  better 
have  done  to-day :  not  to  take  me,  or  any  man 
like  me,  whose  work  in  the  strife  for  which 
these  men  fell  was  so  poor  and  thin,  but  to  take 
one  of  your  own  veterans,  a  man  who,  when 
the  trumpet  called  our  nation  to  battle,  went  out 
and  stood  fast,  fighting  for  the  land ;  who  en- 
dured hardness  like  a  good  soldier,  until  the 
war  was  ended,  and  then,  coming  back,  quietly 
took  his  place  as  a  citizen,  doing  his  duty  with 
the  smart  of  his  old  wounds  about  him,  but 
never  complaining,  or  thinking  that  God  had 
given  him  the  harder  lot.  Such  a  man  might 
stand  mute,  or  simply  say,  "  These  are  the 
graves  of  my  comrades,"  and  then  no  speech 
that  could  be  made  by  the  tongue  of  man  be- 
side would  ever  touch  us  with  an  eloquence 
like  that.  One  mute  appeal  from  a  maimed  arm, 
pointed  down  at  these  green  mounds,  if  we 
had  eyes  to  sec  what  the  appeal  meant,  would 


330  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

cover  these  graves  deeper  with  summer  bios- 
soms  than  they  have  ever  been  covered  with 
winter  snows.  Soldiers  of  the  Republic,  you 
cannot  suspect  what  power  abides  in  your  bro- 
ken bodies  and  shed  blood,  to  shake  the  heart 
of  every  true  American.  That  was  the  power 
you  should  have  seized  for  this  great  occasion. 
I  went  to  the  battle-field;  you  fought  on  it. 
I  nursed  and  tended  in  steamboat  and  hospital ; 
but  you  wrestled  with  the  agonies  of  wounds 
I  could  not  feel.  God  knows  ray  heart  was 
always  full  of  sympathy;  but  that  could  not 
underreach  your  pain.  All  the  tales  of  old 
heroism  I  had  ever  read  faded  out  in  the  face 
of  your  quiet  endurance  ;  and  you  taught  me 
new  lessons  of  what  a  man  can  do,  when  God 
helps  him,  in  any  strife.  The  grandest  sights 
I  shall  ever  see  on  this  earth  I  saw  in  your 
camps  and  hospitals.  It  is  only  my  resolution, 
sacred,  I  trust,  as  my  life,  never  to  refuse  the 
request  of  a  soldier,  that  has  held  me  up  to 
stand  here,  and  try  to  speak  to  you  by  the 
graves  of  your  comrades.  My  advantage,  as 
I  do  try,  rests  in  the  infinite  eloquence  of  your 
mere  presence.  I  fall  back  on  your  reserves. 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  331 

Mine  is  the  description ;  yours,  the  demonstra- 
tion. I  can  only  tell  the  things  that  you  and 
yours  have  done. 

And  so  it  cannot  be  my  business,  in  the  light 
of  this  confession,  to  catalogue  these  deeds  as 
the  substance  of  my  poor  discourse.  They 
stand  in  their  own  strength,  and  are  enshrined 
in  a  glory  to  which  my  words  can  add  no  lustre. 
Neither  can  I  pretend  to  touch  any  lesson  for 
those  that  have  taken  part  in  these  great  trans- 
actions. So  long  as  the  chaplain  falls  back 
while  the  soldier  fights  the  battle,  I  think  there 
is  very  little  room  for  the  chaplain  to  talk  to 
the  soldier,  either  of  duty  or  glory.  1  was 
at  the  rear  when  you  were  at  the  front  what 
time  the  thunders  and  fires  of  the  battle  shook 
the  common  heart.  I  will  not  pretend  to  come 
to  the  front,  and  let  you  pass  to  the  rear  now, 
when  the  battle  is  over. 

But  beside  the  soldier  to-day  stands  the  citi- 
zen, and  I  have  thought  that  if  I  could  speak 
from  the  soldier  to  the  citizen,  I  should  do  all 
that  may  become  a  man  in  my  position.  If  I 
can  do  that,  I  shall  be  content. 

I  want  to  catch  the  spirit,  if  I  can,  of  that 


332  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

great  tim3  in  which  the  soldier  took  the  first 
place,  to  feel,  through  its  lurid  and  terrible 
inlbldings,  for  the  divine  soul  that  was  in 
it  from  first  to  last.  Within  a  few  years  the 
chemist  has  found  the  sweetest  dye  of  heaven 
in  that  crude  oil  which  springs  out  of  the  dark 
and  dismal  deeps  of  the  earth.  This  true 
transcript  of  the  sky  was  born  in  the  heart 
of  that  darkness.  So  there  is,  if  we  have  the 
wisdom  to  find  it,  the  light  of  heaven  at  the 
heart  of  this  old  trouble  through  which  we 
have  come.  And  I  think  we  shall  find  it,  if  we 
consider  three  things  that  touch  us,  naturally, 
as  we  think  of  the  men  whose  dust  is  buried 
beneath  these  mounds,  and  is  rising  and  blend- 
ing with  the  glory  about  us,  —  that  they,  and  all 
like  them  everywhere,  were :  — 

I.  The  true  heroes. 

II.  The  true  patriots. 

III.  The  true  saviours  of  this  land. 

I  mention  the  hero  first  to  mark  my  sense  of 
the  fact  that  of  these  three  great  things,  always 
to  be  found  in  the  true  citizen-soldier,  this  with 
all  its  wonderful  grace,  is  the  least  and  lowest, 
and  in  the  strife  of  which  these  graves  are  mute, 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  333 

hut  most  eloquent  witnesses,  no  man  will  more 
readily  testify  than  the  soldier  himself  who  hears- 
me,  it  was  the  common  quality  found  on  both 
sides.  This,  indeed,  was  deeply  to  be  desired,  if 
such  a  contest  was  inevitable  as  that  through 
which  we  have  come.  Now  that  two  hundred 
years  have  gone,  and  all  the  old  soreness  has 
gone  with  the  years,  the  Englishman  is  proud  of 
the  splendid  heroism  displayed  by  Puritan  and 
Cavalier  alike,  and  would  not,  for  any  price,  have 
it  possible  that  half  the  great  family,  when  the 
quarrel  came  to  the  solemn  arbitration  of  the 
sword,  should  turn  out  poltroons  and  cowards. 
And  while  it  was  essential  that  the  Puritan 
should  win  in  the  last  battle,  —  as  it  always  is 
that  heaven  should  win  against  hell,  —  the  hero- 
ism, of  those  who  stood  for  the  wrong  is  still  the 
grand  background  to  the  picture  of  Ironside  and 
Roundhead  standing  for  the  right.  They  had  to 
come  together  when  the  old  war  was  over,  and 
band  together  for  the  common  good.  They  could 
only  do  that  as  they  felt  that  each  had  sterling 
qualities  of  heroism  which  the  other  was  bound 
to  respect.  So  it  is  with  us  to-day,  and  will  be 
forever.  When  the  old  bitterness  has  gone  out 


334  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

of  our  hearts,  and  all  the  wounds  are  healed, 
and  we  are  one  nation,  we  shall  be  proud  of  the 
heroic  qualities  displayed  by  so  many  on  the 
other  side,  and  feel  that  this  heroism  is  the  com- 
mon possession  of  the  men  of  our  stock.  North 
or  South,  it  makes  no  difference  as  to  that.  Right 
or  wrong,  that  grand  quality  abides,  and,  like  the 
fallen  angels  in  Milton's  mighty  epic,  such  traits 
come  out,  even  in  their  struggle  with  the  Lord 
of  Hosts,  as  fill  us  with  a  sorrowful  respect  for 
such  natures,  while  we  utterly  condemn  the  sin 
that  dragged  them  down. 

Now  we  are  coming  together.  We  shall  come 
together ;  and  then  when  the  old  pain  has  gone 
out,  it  will  be  better  for  us  all,  and  for  all  the 
world,  that  there  should  be  men  like  Stonewall 
Jackson  on  the  other  side.  For  Fort  Pillow,  and 
Lawrence,  and  Andersonville,  and  the  Libby,  and 
all  such  murder  and  torture,  I  feel  an  unuttera- 
ble loathing.  Such  things  can  only  be  done  by 
the  very  spawn  and  refuse  of  the  pit.  To  be 
concerned  in  them,  by  implication  even,  is  to  be 
blotted^  out  of  the  book  of  American  life ;  but 
heroism,  like  this  that  I  speak  about,  knew  noth- 
ing of  that ;  and  heroism,  I  say,  was  a  common 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  335 

quality.  A  fairer  light  rests  this  day  on  the 
graves  of  these  heroes  because  they  fell  fighting 
with  heroes  in  battle.  And  they  will  one  day 
be  friends  worthy  of  our  friendship,  who  were 
foes  worthy  of  our  steel.  Our  President  has 
done  no  wiser  thing  than  when,  that  morning 
lately,  his  great  antagonist  came  to  see  him, 
soldier  to  soldier,  face  to  face,  he  gave  him  prece- 
dence of  all  the  vampires  that  were  seeking  some 
way  by  which  they  might  fasten  on  the  body 
politic,  and  fill  their  veins  from  its  life.  He 
simply  gave  precedence  to  his  foe,  who  wanted 
now  to  be  a  friend,  over  those  that,  in  the  guise  of 
friendship,  are  to-day  the  worst  foes  the  country 
has  to  encounter. 

This,  then,  is  the  first  truth :  we  deck  the 
graves  of  heroes,  all  the  more  heroic  in  that  they 
had  to  meet  their  peers  in  heroism,  and  conquer 
them.  Dearly,  then,  we  can  treasure  all  beside 
that  brings  this  noble  quality  home  to  our  hearts ; 
can  watch  them  leave  their  homes,  while  mothers, 
and  sisters,  and  wives  gather  about  them,  not 
to  hinder,  thank  God,  but  to  heip,  —  Spartan 
women,  with  Christian  hearts,  battling  with  their 
tears,  only  giving  their  prayers  free  course,  and 


336  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

their  words  of  deep  courage,  until  the  boys  were 
out  of  sight.  . 

We  can  think  of  them  in  their  camps,  bracing 
up  their  hearts  to  the  strange,  new  life,  with 
that  distant  look  in  their  eyes  I  have  seen  so 
many  times,  telling  me  the  spirit  is  not  there. 
It  has  swept  over  the  distance  between  the  tent 
and  the  homestead,  and  is  looking  in,  and  watch- 
ing the  life  that  must  go  on  in  its  steady  round, 
whether  the  husband  or  brother  is  present  or 
absent. 

Then,  as  the  day  darkens,  we  can  watch  them 
go  forth  to  battle  —  to  that  awful  work  which 
seems  at  once  to  touch  the  direct  and  divin- 
est  possibilities  of  life  ;  set  themselves  sternly, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  make  their  breasts  a  bul- 
wark for  their  motherland ;  to  die  if  they  must, 
or  be  maimed  if  they  must,  but  to  conquer  what- 
ever comes :  and  then  if  it  is  to  die,  to  depart, 
as  I  have  seen  so  many  go,  as  when  God  kissed 
his  servant  on  the  mountain,  and  he  slept.  No 
complaint,  and  no  fear  ;  only  the  one  great  assur- 
ance that  always  comes  with  the  well-done  —  the 
assurance  that  all  is  well  here  and  yonder ;  that 
a  life  is  always  good  for  a  life ;  no  fear  for  the 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  337 

soul  that  has  done  its  duty ;  only  the  day-dawn 
of  an  infinite  hope. 

It  has  been  my  lot  to  kneel  at  the  death-bed 
of  many  Christians.  I  never  knelt  by  one  on 
which  the  light  from  Heaven  shone  quite  so 
clear  as  it  did  on  the  poor  cot  of  some  soldiers 
who  could  not  tell  mo  much  about  their  faith,  but 
could  tell  me  all  I  wanted  to  know  about  their 
duty.  Dear,  tender,  beautiful  souls,  speaking  of 
the  wife  and  children  with  their  last  breath,  and 
of  their  hope  that  the  country  for  which  they 
died  would  not  forget  them,  and  then  leaving  all 
the  rest  to  God.  No  matter  about  the  harp  and 
crown ;  if  that  was  not  best,  they  were  not  going 
to  lament.  So  far  they  were  sure  of  their  foot- 
ing, and  they  did  not  fear  for  the  next  step.  To 
die  for  the  great  Mother  was  enough  —  that  they 
felt  was,  in  their  poor  measure,  as  when  Christ 
died  for  their  race.  Heroes !  No  better  or  bright- 
er heroism  was  ever  seen  on  this  planet,  than  that 
which  shone  forth  from  these  men,  to  whose  dust 
we  bring  this  beauty,  wherever  they  lie. 

I  said,  just  now,  that  heroism  was  the  lowest 
of  the  three  grand  qualities  by  which  these  risen 
souls,  that  look  down  011  us  to-day,  aro  forever  to 
22 


338  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  . 

be  distinguished.  It  may  be  for  the  reason  that 
it  is  the  quality  on  which  the  others  must  rest, 
and  but  for  which  they  could  have  no  real  ex- 
istence. The  hero  underlies  the  patriot  and  the 
saviour.  Patriotism  and  sacrifice  rest  on  the 
quaking  sand,  when  heroism,  the  unconquerable 
quality,  does  not  hold  them  up.  "  First  win  the 
battle,  then  look  after  me,"  Colonel  Silas  Miller 
cried.  It  was  the  instinct  of  the  hero.  Heroism, 
Carlyle  has  said,  is  that  divine  relation  which,  in 
ah1  times,  relates  a  great  man  to  other  men.  It 
unites  us  to-day  to  every  hero,  in  the  land  and 
in  the  sea,  who  fell  for  our  country.  But  for 
their  deeds  we  should  have  no  country;  the 
heroes  of  the  Nation,  alive  and  dead,  are  at  the 
foundation  of  the  American  nationality. 

II.  I  said  that  above  the  hero  stands  the  pa- 
triot. I  speak  still  of  the  soldier  when  I  say  this, 
because  it  is  the  lesson  of  his  life  I  am  touching; 
and  he  is  greater  as  a  patriot  than  a  hero,  because 
lie  rose  above  all  minor  things,  and  gave  himself, 
without  reservation,  to  the  republic. 

I  mean  no  offence  when  I  say  that  there  is  a 
sectional  patriotism,  just  as  there  is  a  sectarian 
Christianity.  I  say  it  the  more  freely,  because  1 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  339 

have  to  confess  that  I  belong  to  a  section  in  the 
republic  and  a  sect  in  the  church,  and  I  cannot 
see  my  way  out  of  my  limitations.  In  ordinary 
times,  I  have  said  already,  I  believe  this  to  be 
best.  It  is  the  disagreement  of  the  atmospheres 
that  cleanses  the  air.  Our  stormy  lake  there  is 
infinitely  better  than  the  Dead  Sea.  The  only 
perfect  repose  I  know  of  is  the  awful  stillness  of 
the  grave.  We  can  never  cease  contending  about 
principles  and  policies  of  government;  and  all 
honest  contention,  loyal  still  to  the  land,  is  like 
the  systole  and  diastole  of  a  true  heart. 

But  when  the  crisis  came  that  was  to  test  the 
heroism  of  these  men,  it  was  to  test  their  patriot- 
ism too.  We  were  in  a  mighty  contention  among 
ourselves.  We  were  not  clear  about  our  duty ; 
to  many  a  man  who  fought  and  fell  for  us,  there 
came  a  time,  in  those  days,  when  the  reason  for 
standing  back,  and  substantially  deserting  the 
country,  must  have  been  as  subtle  and  strong  as 
the  reasons  for  deserting  Jehovah,  in  the  old  war 
in  heaven,  were  to  many  a  still  unfallen  angel. 
But  in  that  moment,  "when  our  sole  hope  of  salva- 
tion, under  God,  was  in  the  compacted  strength 
of  every  true  man,  then,  as  in  Switzerland  once, 


340  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

every  canton  poured  out  its  people,  and  from 
every  mountain  came  the  mountaineer,  to  strike 
one  stroke,  —  and 'the  land  was  saved.  So  these 
men  passed  over  the  lines  of  difference,  to  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder:  forgetting  the  old  battle- 
cries  of  the  parly,  they  gave  themselves,  without 
reserve,  for  the  land ;  and  it  was  this  that  made 
them  greater  than  heroes.  They  could  be  heroes 
on  the  wrong  side ;  they  could  only  be  patriots 
on  the  right  side.  Above  all  the  reasons  that 
could  be  given  why  they  should  held  back,  and 
let  "  Mene,  Tekel "  be  written,  once  for  all,  across 
our  history,  rose  this  one  thing  that  could  not  be 
reasoned  about,  —  the  salvation  of  the  land.  It 
was  to  them  as  when  you  shall  give  a  man  rea- 
sons for  not  helping  his  mother;  but  then  she 
shall  say,  "  My  son,  I  am  your  mother.  I  suckled 
you  at  my  breast,  and  held  you  on  my  knees." 
Then  that  is  enough ;  there  is  no  reason  that  can 
meet  that  instinct ;  it  lifts  the  man  with  a  mighty 
spring  to  stand  by  her  side. 

This  was  the  patriotism  of  these  men.  They 
forgot  everything  but  the  t>ne  great  tender  tie. 
"  Let  us  agree  to  have  a  country,"  they  said, 
"  and  then  we  can  afford  to  differ  about  the  best 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  341 

way  to  take  care  of  it."  They  counted  all  things 
as  loss  save  the  excellency  of  the  glory  of  an 
unbroken  republic.  And  so  it  was  natural  that 
citizens  of  Chicago  should  think  very  tenderly, 
at  such  a  time  as  this,  of  one  who  rests  alone  at 
the  other  extreme  of  our  city.  He  was  a  soldier, 
though  he  struck  no  stroke  except  the  stroke  of 
his  mighty  words.  He  died  just  as  the  trumpet 
was  sounding  for  the  host,  but  he  died  fighting 
with  a  mighty  ardor  for  the  land  he  loved.  I 
cast  my  poor  blossom  across  the  grave  of  Doug- 
las, who,  when  the  crisis  came  against  which  he 
had  always  striven  by  the  best  light  he  had,  knew 
nothing  under  heaven  but  the  undivided  land. 

Out  of  the  graves  of  our  heroes,  everywhere, 
blooms  this  fair  flower  of  patriotism.  True  men, 
who  could  rise  above  all  minor,  things  to  the 
height  of  this  great  argument,  that  the  republic, 
just  as  it  was  then,  trembling,  seemingly  on  the 
verge  of  dissolution,  was  good  enough  to  live  and 
die  for,  so  lived  and  died  for  the  republic ;  and 
now  they  abide  in  the  unfading  splendor  of  hero 
and  patriot  together,  as  we  abide  a  moment  in 
their  shining  presence,  to  adorn  their  graves. 

III.   There  is  one  step  higher  still  these  great 


342  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

souls  have  taken,  —  the  loftiest  men  can  ever 
attain  to  in  this  mortal  life:  they  are  not  only 
our  heroes  and  patriots,  as  they  stand  there  above 
us  in  their  shining  ranks,  but  the  saviours  of  their 
country,  and  of  all  that  was  bound  up  in  her  un- 
divided destiny ! 

When  I  try  to  weigh  the  whole  matter  which 
called  these  men,  at  last,  to  their  great  estate,  I 
am  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  no 
way  left  to  save  this  nation  but  by  its  most  pre- 
cious blood.  God  sent  prophets  and  teachers,  as 
great  and  good  as  he  ever  sent  to  any  nation, 
and  they  poured  out  their  hearts  for  us,  —  and  it 
was  ah1  in  vain.  Everything  was  done  which  could 
be  done,  short  of  this  shedding  of  blood,  to  avert 
the  woe ;  but  we  were  helpless  to  avert  it.  Only 
the  noblest  and  best  we  had,  leaping  into  the 
gulf  in  his  best  estate,  could  close  the  chasm, 
and  secure  the  integrity  of  the  land.  Indeed,  if 
this  were  the  time  and  place,  it  would  not  be  hard 
to  tell  how  the  trumpet  that  sounded  the  war  did 
but  announce  the  end  of  a  truce ;  and  this  strug- 
gle was  only  a  new  outbreak  of  the  long  fight 
between  despotic  and  democratic  institutions,  iu 
which  Gettysburg  was  made  one  with  Marston- 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  343 

Moor.  No  such  thing  can  be  done  to-day.  It  is 
enough  to  say  the  solemn  crisis  came  in  which 
the  best  we  could  have,  could  only  be  obtained 
at  the  cost  of  the  best  we  had.  Then  these  men 
came  forward,  —  young  men,  with  the  bloom  on 
their  lives,  strong  men,  and  true,  —  the  best  we 
had,  and  offered  themselves,  if  that  would  do,  as 
the  price  of  the  national  salvation.  Budding 
hopes  were  in  the  heart  of  the  youth,  of  a  fair 
home  by  and  by,  and  a  good  wife  to  keep  it,  and 
gracious  presences  fresh  from  God  to  people  it, 
and  a  career  burdened  with  the  blessing  that 
comes  to  every  true  man  in  this  noble  country. 
But  he  gave  it  all  for  the  land,  and  said,  "  Live 
or  die,  that  shall  be  my  first  care." 

Strong  ties  bound  others,  —  home,  wife,  chil- 
dren, fortune,  a  career  already  open,  —  everything 
the  heart  could  wish.  To  give  up  life  at  thirty 
was  nothing  beside  giving  up  these  things  that 
life  had  brought.  "  My  ten  great  reasons  for  tak- 
ing no  risk,"  one  said,  "  were  a  wife  and  nine 
children." 

I  have  no  standard  by  which  to  measure  what 
the  men  who  left  these  things,  and  rest  in  these 
graves,  have  done.  It  seems  like  trying  to  measure- 


344  AT  THE  SOLDIERS    GRAVES. 

the  infinite.  The  infinite  is  in  it.  But  there  they 
stood  in  that  great  day,  —  the  youth  in  the  portals 
of  his  life,  the  man  at  his  fireside, — and  they  looked 
right  into  the  heart  of  all  that  was  about  them, 
and  before  them,  and  above  them ;  and  then  they 
said,  "  I  can  give  it  all  if  my  country  needs  it." 
Then  they  went  out  and  gave  it  ah1  for  the  need. 
They  kept  nothing  back ;  like  brave  Captain 
Thompson,  they  said,  "  I  leave  all  with  God ; " 
like  Colonel  Wright,  when  one  arm  was  gone, 
they  could  "  thank  God  that  one  hand  might  guide 
a  horse ; "  like  Major  Chandler,  they  said, "  Where 
I  can  be  of  most  service  I  will  stay ; "  like  Silas 
Miller,  they  shouted,  as  their  life  leaped  out, 
"  First  win  the  battle,  then  look  after  me ; "  like 
MuUigan,  they  cried,  "  I  am  dying,  boys ;  but 
•don't  lose  the  colors ;  "  and  like  Ransom,  they 
said,  "  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty,  and  have  no 
fear  for  myself  after  death." 

Do  I  mention  these  men,  whose  words  still 
sound  in  our  ears,  it  is  only  to  realize  for  you  the 
truth  about  all  these  noble  dead.  Not  one  soldier, 
I  care  not  how  obscure,  giving  his  life  in  this 
fashion,  falls  short  of  this  great  place  —  not  one 
-such  man  has  died  in  vain.  It  is  a  whole  sacri- 


At  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  345 

fice,  and  they  are  all  saviours.  They  stand  above 
us  this  day,  as  we  stand  by  their  graves,  risen 
and  glorified.  I  question  the  value  of  no  other 
sacrifice ;  but  this,  to  me,  is  the  greatest  —  the 
price  that  was  paid  for  our  nationality  in  the  true 
gold  of  their  true  life.  Nothing  can  rise  above  that, 
except  that  help  of  God,  without  which  all  were 
vain.  Glorious  forever,  with  the  hero  and  pa- 
triot, stands  the  saviour.  All  that  a  man  has  he 
will  give  for  his  life.  Yet  these  gave  their  life, 
asking  for  nothing  again,  but  that  their  land  and 
nation  might  not  be  torn  asunder. 

I  have  been  led  to  make  this  threefold  distinc- 
tion in  the  glory  of  our  dead,  because  I  have  felt 
it  would  not  only  give  us  a  clearer  conception  of 
the  true  nature  of  what  they  have  done,  but 
might  come  homo  the  more  weightily  to  those  of 
us  who  stand  here  to-day.  Heroism,  patriotism, 
and  the  great  office  of  the  saviour,  are  the  threefold 
cord  that  must  still  bind  every  true  American  to 
his  duty,  and  open  the  way  to  his  greatest  place. 
We  must  be  heroes  still,  and  patriots,  and  saviours, 
or  we  must  stand  in  the  shadow,  while  these  men 
stand  in  the.  light,  and  be  content  to  be  despised 
when  they  are  worshipped.  God  gives  no  man 


346  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

a  supreme  place  who  will  not  do  a  supreme  work. 
War  and  peace  are  but  the  two  ways  that  he  has 
marked  out  for  the  one  thing.  Heroism  a«>  high, 
patriotism  as  precious,  and  a  saviourship  as  sacred 
as  that  which  these  men  rose  to,  are  still  open  to 
you  and  me.  Pre-emption  from  any  one  of  these 
glorious  qualities  is  pre-emption  from  the  best 
that  God  has  to  give.  To  be  hero,  patriot,  and 
saviour  is  the  mark  of  the  prize  of  our  high  call- 
ing. To  fight  against  corruption,  as  these  fought 
against  conspiracy ;  to  stand  for  the  whole  land, 
in  peace,  as  they  did  in  war ;  and  in  war,  if  it 
come  again,  to  make  the  uttermost  sacrifice 
which  can  be  demanded  for  the  commonwealth 
of  America,  —  these  are  just  as  truly  the  demand 
made  on  you  and  me  as  was  the  demand  on  the 
men  whose  dust  moulders  beneath  these  mounds. 
The  body  and  blood  of  this  sacrament  of  flowera 
for  the  heroes  and  patriots  and  saviours  of  our 
land,  are  lost  to  our  life,  if  they  fail  to  make  us 
heroes,  patriots,  and  saviours  also. 

I  must  not  weary  you.  I  have  but  a  few  more 
words  that  insist  on  being  said.  Brave  men,  I 
have  said ;  good  soldiers,  —  and  you  gather  from 
this  the  idea  that  I  have  meant  men,  and  not  wo- 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  317 

meu, —  but  I  could  never  hope  to  pardon  myself, 
let  alone  be  pardoned  of  God  and  my  country,  if 
I  failed  to  speak  at  such  a  time  of  the  woman,  too, 
and  of  the  woman,  in  every  respect,  as  the  exem- 
plar of  the  great  qualities  I  have  pointed  out  in 
the  man.  The  woman  stood  as  truly  as  the  man 
by  this  great  cause ;  made  her  sacrifice  as  quietly 
and  as  perfectly  as  he  did,  and  on  the  battle-field, 
or  in  the  hospital,  or  the  house,  was  the  hero,  the 
patriot,  and  the  saviour,  too. 

When  the  youth  would  look  into  the  eyes  of 
the  maiden  for  confirmation  of  his  longing  to  let 
his  love  of  the  land  take  precedence  of  his  love 
for  her,  she  said  Amen,  gave  him  the  kiss  of  con- 
secration, and  sent  him  forth,  her  true  knight. 
When  the  husband  said,  with  a  shaking  voice,  to 
the  wife,  "  I  feel  almost  as  if  I  ought  to  go,  and 
leave  you  and  the  children,"  the  voice  of  the  wife 
grew  steady  as  she  said,  "  Go,  then ;  "  turning  al- 
most into  altogether,  in  the  sacrifice;  and  she 
looked  on  with  steady  eyes,  at  least  until  he  was 
gone,  because  all  the  courage  there  was,  or  could 
be,  must  be  taken  with  him  to  the  camp.  Then, 
as  the  work  went  on,  and  grew  ever  more  dread- 
ful, and  new  drafts  were  made  on  her  life  for  help 


318  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

to  the  sick  and  wounded,  and  for  everything  that 
a  woman  can  do  to  cube  the  might  of  man,  with 
unflinching  steadiness  she  toiled  and  sufi'ered; 
supplying,  with  a  measureless  generosity,  every- 
thing that  was  needed  to  the  call;  sanctifying 
this  very  day,  this  Sunday  of  ours,  0,  so  many 
times,  by  doing  all  manner  of  work,  and  doing 
everything,  not  merely  without  a  murmur,  —  for 
that  we  might  have  expected  of  her  patience  and 
her  love,  —  but  doing  it  with  a  mighty  cheerful- 
ness, that  sent  cheer  into  every  hero's  soul,  and 
was  the  expression,  through  all  the  darkness,  of 
the  light  she  foresaw  and  foretold,  —  singing  of 
the  coming  of  victory  and  peace,  when  the  full 
price  was  paid,  and  the  powers  of  darkness  were 
driven  away  by  the  power  of  the  living  God. 

Under  thousands  of  mounds,  in  the  circle  of 
our  land  this  day,  rest  these  true  women,  heroes, 
patriots,  and  saviours,  with  the  men.  Broken 
down  at  their  tasks,  when  the  poor  frame  could 
hold  the  great  soul  no  longer,  they  died,  as  they 
had  lived,  for  the  motherland;  not  having  re- 
ceived the  promise,  but  seeing  it  afar  off,  and 
with  their  last  breath  praying  for  the  establish- 
ment of  the  right.  Over  all  these  graves  we 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  349 

cast  our  blossoms,  as  we  cast  them  on  the  graves 
of  our  noble  men.  These  flowers,  and  that  which 
these  flowers  symbolize  everywhere,  we  cast  on 
the  graves  in  which  all  women  are  resting,  whose 
souls  are  risen  to  that  great  place,  and  stand  with 
the  angels  of  God. 

Neither  can  I  forget,  as  I  stand  here,  that  com- 
pany of  unknown  martyrs  who  never  found  their 
way  where  they  could  fight  for  the  right,  yet 
could  not  countenance  the  wrong,  and  so  were 
slain,  and  buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  their  own 
homesteads,  and  lie  there'  to-day  under  the  South- 
ern sun.  Poor,  dumb,  nameless  martyrs  —  men 
and  women  who  could  only  suffer,  but  had  no 
chance  to  do,  or  could  only  do  in  nooks  and  cor- 
ners, carrying  their  lives  in  their  hands;  and 
then,  at  last,  giving  them  for  the  land  that  was 
never  to  know  their  name.  Not  one  such  grave 
of  man  or  woman,  white  or  black,  can  be  left  out 
of  this  consecration.  They  did  what  they  could ; 
we  give  for  it  what  we  have.  They  need  noth- 
ing we  can  do ;  we  need  to  feed  our  hearts  on 
their  great  lesson  of  how  good  it  is  to  be  stead- 
fast and  true,  all  to  yourself,  if  the  host  is  on  the 
other  side,  and  to  die  one  lone  man  or  woman  for 


350  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

the  right,  where  the  wrong  seems  supreme.  My 
heart  goes  out,  as  I  stand  here  this  day,  to  those 
nameless  graves  of  the  nameless  martyrs.  I  bid 
you  remember  them  as  you  offer  your  gift.  They, 
too,  are  our  kinsmen  and  friends :  they  died  that 
we  might  live. 

Finally,  I  bid  you  look  with  a  tender  pity  on 
the  graves  of  those  who  died  fighting  against  us, 
if  they  knew  no  better.  They  know  better  now, 
and  if  they  could  come  back  into  life,  would  be 
with  us  and  of  us.  It  was  the  fate  of  many, 
more  than  their  fault,  to  be  drawn  into  that 
dreadful  vortex,  to  fight  against  the  holiest 
things,  and  think  they  were  doing  God  service. 
It  is  their  doom  to  have  fallen  fighting  for  the 
wrong.  Let  us  cast  the  mantle  of  forgiveness 
over  their  graves,  and  let  some  poor  blossom 
overflow  that  way  as  a  token  of  what  we  feel. 
We  alone  can  afford  to  forgive  and  forget.  We 
cannot  afford  to  wait  until  those  forgive  and  for- 
get who  are  at  our  mercy.  0,  strong,  and  true, 
and  tender  is  the  North !  and  this  is  the  time  for 
tenderness. 

And  then,  as  these  great  thanksgivings  well  up 
in  our  souls,  and  we  say,  God  bless  the  land  that 


AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES.  351 

has  been  saved  by  this  sacrifice !  let  us  do  what 
these  great  ones  are  beseeching  us  to  do  from 
their  high  place  —  thank  God  for  making  them 
what  they  are.  Then,  as  the  starshine  pales  be- 
fore the  sunshine,  the  light  of  the  glory  of  God 
will  flood  these  cemeteries,  set  shining  ones  be- 
side all  the  graves,  and  send  us  home  with  a  sense 
that  we  have  seen  only  the  grave-clothes.  All 
our  dead  are  risen!  Death  is  swallowed  up  in 
Victory  I 


EGBERT  COLLYER'S  WORKS. 


NATURE  AND  LIFE. 

TKNTII   EDITION. 

Price  $1. 00.    Fine  edition,  bevelled  hoards,  gilt  edges,  with/a 
of  Mr.  Collyer'K  Autograph  stamped  in  Gold,  and  a  View  of  his  early 
Home.    Trice,  $2.00.    Sent  by  mail  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

The  broad  humanity  of  the  writer,  his  ready  sympathy,  his  recog- 
nition of  the  superiority  of  true  religion  over  all  its  forms,  and  last,  but 
not  least,  the  poclie  quality  of  his  thought,  bespeak  for  him  a  hearing 
with  all  earliest  men.  As  much  as  Mr.  Bcecher,  he  belongs  to  all  the 
sects.  —  The  Nation,  New  York. 

Their  peculiar  charm  is  to  be  found  in  the  freshness  and  glow  of  their 
sympathy  with  all  human  conditions.  —  Independent,  New  York. 

Every  page  is  bright  vith  good  cheer,  and  presents  considerations 
that  are  calculated  to  strengthen  the  best  motive?,  lead  to  the  noblest  liv- 
ing, and  inspire  the  heart  with  child-like  irust  in  the  Infinite  Father.  — 
Tlie  Liberal  Christian. 

The  result  of  Mr,  Collyer's  self-education,  and  consequent  original 
style  of  thought,  is  manifest  in  these  sermons.  Healthiness  is  the  term 
which  may  most  properly  be  applied  to  them.  There  are  no  signs  of 
dyspepsia  or  bronchitis  in  them.  You  may  be  sure  his  lungs  are 
sound,  his  chest  broad,  his  arm  strong,  his  head  clear.  They  fairly 
glow  with  The  ruddiness  of  fresh,  out-door  health.  Their  tone  is  always 
manly  and  sincere,  and  expression  clear,  concise,  and  convincing. — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

No  thoughtful  man  or  woman  can  read  these  sermons  without  gain- 
ing good  thereby,  —  without  having  the  heart  set  aflame  by  the  love  of 
<Jod,  and  nature,  and  man,  which  is  revealed  in  musical  simplicity  in 
every  line  thereof.  —  Republican,  Chicago. 

The  themes  arc  drawn  from  the  cvcry-day  experience  of  lifa;  from 
the  hopes,  the  sorrows,  the  perplexities,  the  aspirations  of  the  human 
heart,  and  arc  treated  with  a  wisdom,  a  gentleness,  a  pathos,  n  rich, 
loving  sympathy,  which  raise  them  above  the  usual  sphere  of  eloquence 
into  that  of  persuasive  and  touching  counsel.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

All  of  them  are  aglow  with  a  sweet,  fresh,  spiritual  life,  that  sheds  R 
radiance  of  hope,  and  faith,  and  love  on  the  darkest  theme.  Some  of 
them  nrc  more  than  sermons,  —  they  arc  poems,  rich  in  thought  and 
beautiful  in  expression.  —  Portland  Transcript. 

Happy  the  man  to  whom  these  sermons  —  these  poems,  rather,  for 
R-.ieh  in  very  truth  they  are— come  in  his  hour  of  need.  They  will 
lr  Ip  him  over  many  of  the  rough  places  of  bin  life;  and  when  we  put 
(hem  on  our  shelves,  it  shall  not  be  side  by  side  with  other  sermons, 
hut  Longfellow  an<!  Tennyson  shall  keep  them  company  on  either 
hand. —  Chrittian  Examiner. 

Sermons  though  these  are,  they  set  every  page  ablaze,  and  make  the 
book  as  entertaining  to  a  reader  of  taste  and  wholesome  moral  sym- 
pathies as  a  romance  of  Scott  or  a  drama  of  Shakespeare.  —  Freewill 
Jinptist  Quarterly. 


Robert    Collycr's    Works. 


II. 

A   MAN   IN   EARNEST: 

MFE    OF   A.    H.    COA'A^'T. 

Price  $1.05. 
Fine  edition,  with  Portrait  of  Mr.  Conant,  price  $2.00. 

To  such  as  would  liave  tho  most  attractive  bit  of  biography  of  the 
day,  we  commend  "  A  Man  in  Earnest,"  with  the  assurance  that  their 
estimate  of  the  value  of  life  will  be  enlarged,  strengthened,  and  purified 
thereby;  and,  if  they  do  not  rise  with  the  belief  that  Mr.  Conant.  was 
the  wisest  of  men,  they  will  be  sure  that  Robert.  Collyer  is  the  most 
charming  and  appreciative  of  biographers.  —  Evening  Post,  Chicago. 

Those  who  have  road  his  "  Nature  and  Life,"  as  well  as  those  who 
have  heard  him  speak,  will  read  the  book,  not  so  much  to  Icarn  the 
story  of  Mr.  Conant's  life,  as  to  come  in  contact  once  more  with  the 
fresh,  earnest  eloquence,  the  noble,  genial,  inspiring  sentiments,  the  : 
large  heart  of  Mr.  Collyer.  It  is  the  prerogative  of  genius  to  rloril'y 
with  song,  or  eloquence,  or  wondrous  touch  whatever  subject  it  treats; 
and  so  this  gentle  though  brave  and  manly  life  of  a  pioneer  preacher  is 
set  before  us  a  genre  picture,  made  glorious  and  beautiful  and  powerful 
by  the  strong  and  radiant,  touches  of  a  master  hand.  To  know  tho 
writer  is  to  be  magnetized  and  charmed  by  him ;  to  read  this  little  book 
will  be  to  enjoy  and  be  elevated  by  it.  —  Worcester  Gazette. 


III. 


With  an  excellent  Steel  Portrait  of  the  Author,  engraved  by  Ferine. 

Price,  S'.  50. 
Fine  edition,  bevelled  boards,  gilt  edges,  price  $2.00. 

A  new  volume,  by  Robert  Collyer,  of  Chicago,  is  announced  by 
Horace  B.  Fuller,  of  Boston.  That  it.  will  be  a  treasury  of  wisdom 
and  wit,  of  the  most  delicate  insight,  the  most  humane  sympathy,  the 
most  poetic  imagination,  all  who  have  heard  the  eloquent  preacher,  or 
read  his  delightful  "Nature  and  Life,"  will  be  sure.  —  GEOKGK 
WILLIAM  Cuims,  in  Harper's  Weekly. 

Mr.  Fuller  expects  to  publish  a  second  series  of  sermons  by  Eobert 
Collyer.  "  Nature  and  Life"  has  sold  towards  ten  thousand  copies; 
the  forthcoming  book  will  doubtless  have  a  still  larger  sale,  for  the 
enviable  fame  of  Mr.  Collyer  has  grown  very  fast  of  late  years,  and 
there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  now  of  the  most  intelligent  persons 
between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Rocky  Mountains  who  prize  his  golden 
words,  and  yet  more  the  vast  heart  that  he  puts  into  all  he  says.  He 
breathes  on  dead  phrases,  and  they  become  living  souls.  —  Boston 
Correspondence  of  Cincinnati  Chronicle. 

Kcv.  Robert  Collyer,  who  is  another  Instance  of  a  rare  poetic 
genius  appearing  in  an  English  workingman,  who  is  indeed  one  of  the 
rarest  prose  poets  the  English  race  lias  produced,  will  soon  issue 
another  book.  His  theology  is  unsound,  doubtless;  but  his  poetry  and 
his  human  sympathy  are  unsurpassed.  —  New  York  Independent. 

HORACE  B.  FULLER,  Publisher, 

14  BROMFIEr,I>  ST.,  BOSTON. 


THEODORE  PARKER'S  WRITINGS, 

NEW    EDITIOIV. 


A   DISCOURSE   OF   MATTERS   PERTAINING  TO   RELI- 
GION.    Fourth  Edition.     I  vol.  I2mo,  cloth.     $1.50. 

I.  Of  Religion  in  General ;  or.  The  Religious  Element  and  its  Manifestation*. 

II.  Relation  of  the  Itcl. pious  Element  tn  God  ;  or,  A  Discourse  of  Inspiration. 

III.  Relation  of  the  Religious  Element  to  Jc&us  of  Nazareth  ;  or,  A  Discourse  of 
Christianity. 

IV.  Relation  of  the  Religious  Element  to  the  Greatest  of  Books;  or,  A  Discourse 
of  the  Bible. 

V.  Uelnti-n  of  the  Religious  Element  to  the  Greatest  of  Human  Institutions;  or, 
A  Discourse  of  the  Church. 


SERMONS  OF  THEISM,  ATHEISM,  AND  THE  POPULAR 
THEOLOGY.     I  vol.  I2mo,  cloth.     $1.50. 

Introduction. 

I.  Speculative  Atheism  regarded  as  a  Theory  of  the  Universe. 

II.  Practical  Atheism  regarded  us  a  1'rinciple  of  Ethics. 

III.  The  Popular  Theology  of  Christendom  regarded  as  a  Theory  of  the  Universe. 

IV.  The  Popular  Theology  of  Christendom  regarded  us  a  1'iinc'iple  of  Ethics. 

V.  Speculative  Theism  ivganlod  as  a  Theory  of  th?  Universe. 

VI.  1'iactical  Theism  regarded  as  a  Piinciplc  of  Lthici. 

VII.  The  Function  and  Influence  ot  the  Idea  of  Immortal  Life 

VIII.  The  UnivtT.-al  Providence  of  God. 

IX.,  X.  The  Economy  of  Pain  and  Misery  un  Jer  the  Universal  Providence  of  God. 


TEN  SERMONS  OF  RELIGION.    I  vol.  I2mo,  cloth.    $1.50. 

I.  Piety,  and  its  Relation  to  Manly  Life. 

II.  Truth  and  the  Intellect. 

III.  Justice  and  the  Conscience. 

IV.  Love  and  the  Affections. 

V.  Conscious  Hellgion  and  the  Soul. 

VI.  The  Culture  of  I  he  Religious  Powers. 

VII.  Conscious  lUTiirion  as  a  Source  of  Strength. 

VIII.  Conscious  Religion  as  n  Source  of  Joy. 

IX.  Conventional  and  Natural  Sacraments. 

X.  Communion  with  God.  

ADDITIONAL    SPEECHES,    ADDRESSES,   AND    OCCA- 
SIONAL SERMONS.     2  vols.  I2mo,  cloth.     $3.00. 

VOL.  I. 

I.  Speech  at  the  Ministerial  Conference  in  Boston,  May  29, 1851. 

II.  The  Boston  Kiduapp'ng, —  the  Rendition  of  Thomas  Sims. 

III.  The  Aspect  of  freedom  in  America. 

IV.  DiscouiM  occasioned  by  the  Death  of  Daniel  Webster. 

V.  The  Nebraska  Qmstion. 

VI.  The  Condition  of  America  in  Rdation  to  Slavery. 

VOL.  II. 

I.  The  Progress  of  America. 

II.  The  New  Crime  (gains!  Humanity,  — the  Rendition  of  Anthony  Burns. 

III.  The  Laws  of  God  and  the  Statutes  of  Men. 

IV.  The  Dangers  which  threaten  the  Rights  of  Man  in  America. 

V.  Some  Account  of  .My  Mini-try. 

VI.  The  Public  Function  oT  Woman. 

VII.  Seiraon  of  Old  Aze. 


SPEECHES,  ADDRESSES,  AND  OCCASIONAL  SERMONS. 
3  vols.  I2mo,  cloth.     $4.50. 

VOL.  I. 

I.  The  Relation  of  Jesus  to  Ilia  Age  and  tlie  Ages. 

II.  The  True  Idea  of  a  Christian  Church. 

III.  A  Sermon  of  War. 

I V.  A  Speech  delivered  at  the  Anti-War  Meeting  in  Faneuil  HalL 

V.  A  Sermon  of  the  Mexican  War. 

VI.  A  Sermon  of  the  Perishing  Classes  in  Boston. 

VII.  A  Sermon  of  .Me. chants. 

VIII.  A  Sermon  of  the  Dangerous  Classes  in  Society. 

VOL.  II. 

I.  A  Sermon  cf  the  Spiritual  Condilion  of  Boston. 

II.  Sume  Thoughts  on  the  Mist  Christian  Use  of  Sunday. 

III.  A  Sermon  of  Immortal  Life. 

I V.  The  Puhlic  Education  of  the  People. 

V.  The  Political  Destination  of  America,  and  the  S'ene  of  the  Times. 

VI.  A  Discourse  occasioned  by  the  Death  of  John  l^uim'v  Adain». 

VII.  A  Speech  at  a  Meeting  of  the  Aimrican  Anu-Siavcry  Society  to  celebrate 
the  Abolition  of  Slav.'rv  by  t'ic  French  Republic. 

VIII.  A  Speech  at  Faneuil  Hall  before  the  New-England  Anti-Slavery  Convention. 

IX.  Some  Thoughts  on  the  Free-Soil  Party  and  the  Election  of  Gen.  Tuy.or. 

VOL.  III. 

I.  A  Speech  at  a  Meeting  of  the  Citzens  of  Boston  in  Faneuil  Ilall,  March  25,  ]*JO, 
to  consider  the  Speech  of  Mr.  Webster. 

II.  A  Speech  at  the  Ni-w-England  Anti-Slavery  Convention  in  Boston,  May  29,1850. 
1  (I.  A  Discourse  occasioned  by  the  Death  of  the  Lite  Firsidcnt  Taylor. 

IV.  The  Function  and  Place  cf  Conscience  in  Kelation  to  the  Laws  of  Men:  * 
Sermon  for  the  Times. 

V.  The  S^at?  of  the  Nation,  considered  in  a  Sermon  for  Thanksgiving  Day. 

VI.  The  Chief  Sins  of  the  People. 

VII.  The  Three  Chief  Safeguards  of  Sxiety,  considered  in  a  Sermon  at  the  Mclo- 
deon. 

VIII.  The  Position  and  Duties  of  the  American  Scholar. 


CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS.  I  vol. 
I2mo,  cloth.  $1.50. 

I.  A  Lesson  for  the  Day. 

II.  G  -rman  Literature. 

III.  Tne  Life  of  St.  Bernard  of  CUu'rvaux. 

IV.  Truth  against  the  World. 

V.  Though  a  on  Labor 

VI.  The  Transient  and  Permanent  in  Christianity. 

VII.  The  Pharisees. 

VIII.  Education  <if  the  Laboring  Classes. 

IX.  How  to  m  >vc  the  World. 

X.  Primitive  Ch'istianity. 

XI.  Strauss's  Life  of  Jesus. 

XII.  TnougliU  on  Theology.       

HISTORIC  AMERICANS,  —  Franklin,  Washington,  Adams, and 
J°fFerson.  With  an  Introduction  by  Rev.  0.  B.  Frothingham. 
$1  50. 

These  volumes,  ten  in  number,  bound  in  uniform  style,  are  put  up  in  a  neat  box: 
price  for  the  set,  (15.00. 

THE  TRIAL  OF  THEODORE  PARKER  for  the  Misdemeanor 
of  a  Speech  in  Faneuil  Hall  against  Kidnapping ;  with  the 
Defence.  1  vol.  8vo,  cloth.  $1.50. 

THE  TWO  CHRISTMAS  CELEBRATIONS,- A.  D.  I.  and 
MDCCCLV.  A  Christmas  Story.  SquarelGmo, cloth.  60cts. 

A  SERMON  OF  IMMORTAL  LIFE.    Pamphlet,  15  cts. 

Sold  by  Booksellers,  or  mailed  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

HORACE    B.    FUIL-I^ER,  Publisher, 

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